Whatever You May Be Sure Of, Be

He Mastered Whatever Was Not Worth The Knowing.

How Little Inventiveness There Is In Man, Grave Copier Of Copies.

If God Made Poets For Anything, It Was To Keep Alive The Traditions Of The Pure, The Holy, And The Beautiful.

Attention Is The Stuff That Memory Is Made Of, And Memory Is Accumulated Genius.

Like Streams That Keep A Summer Mind Snow-hid In Jenooary.