I Am Not Going To Claim That

In History, Stagnant Waters, Whether They Be The Stagnant Waters Of Custom Or Those Of Despotism, Harbour No Life; Life Is Dependent On The Ripples Created By A Few Eccentric Individuals. In Homage To That Life & Vitality, The Community Has To Brave Certain Perils And Must Countenance A Measure Of Heresy. One Must Live Dangerously If One Wants To Live At All.

My Own Early Experiences In War Led Me To Suspect The Value Of Discipline, Even In That Sphere Where It Is So Often Regarded As The First Essential For Success.

Nobody Seriously Believes In The Social Philosophies Of The Immediate Past.

These Are The Sensations And Feelings That Are Gradually Blunted By Education, Staled By Custom, Rejected In Favor Of Social Conformity.

In Order To Create It Is Necessary To Destroy; And The Agent Of Destruction In Society Is The Poet. I Believe That The Poet Is Necessarily An Anarchist, And That He Must Oppose All Organized Conceptions Of The State, Not Only Those Which We Inherit From The Past, But Equally Those Which Are Imposed On People In The Name Of The Future.