What Thou Lovest Well Remains, The Rest

I Have Tried To Write Paradise Do Not Move Let The Wind Speak That Is Paradise. Let The Gods Forgive What I Have Made Let Those I Love Try To Forgive What I Have Made.

The Flavors Of The Peach And The Apricot Are Not Lost From Generation To Generation. Neither Are They Transmitted By Book Learning.

I Could I Trust Starve Like A Gentleman. It's Listed As Part Of The Poetic Training, You Know.

Utter Originality Is, Of Course, Out Of The Question.

No Good Poetry Is Ever Written In A Manner Twenty Years Old, For To Write In Such A Manner Shows Conclusively That The Writer Thinks From Books, Convention And Cliché, Not From Real Life.