What Are Days For? Days Are Where

Seriously, I Think It Is A Grave Fault In Life That So Much Time Is Wasted In Social Matters, Because It Not Only Takes Up Time When You Might Be Doing Individual Private Things, But It Prevents You Storing Up The Psychic Energy That Can Then Be Released To Create Art Or Whatever It Is. It's Terrible The Way We Scotch Silence & Solitude At Every Turn, Quite Suicidal. I Can't See How To Avoid It, Without Being Very Rich Or Very Unpopular, & It Does Worry Me, For Time Is Slipping By , And Nothing Is Done. It Isn't As If Anything Was Gained By This Social Frivolity, It Isn't: It's Just A Waste.

One Of The Quainter Quirks Of Life Is That We Shall Never Know Who Dies On The Dame Day As We Do Ourselves.

Why Should I Let The Toad Work Squat On My Life? Can't I Use My Wit As A Pitchfork And Drive The Brute Off? Six Days Of The Week It Soils With Its Sickening Poison-- Just For Paying A Few Bills! That's Out Of Proportion.

And The Case Of Butterflies So Rich It Looks As If All Summer Settled There And Died.

I Am Not Sure, Once A Poet Has Found Out What Has Been Written Already, And How It Was Written - Once, In Short, He Has Learnt His Trade - That He Should Bother With Literature At All. Poetry Is Not Like Surgery, A Technique That Can Be Copied. Every Operation The Poet Performs Is Unique, And Need Never Be Done Again.