Women, Ever Since There Have Been Women,

Pseudo-modernists Pursue Individual Style Because They Know They Cannot Make A Name Without It; But If They Had Lived In The Eighteenth Century Their Sole Object Would Have Been To Write Correctly, To Conform To The Manner Of The Period. In Practice, Their Conforming Individualism Means An Imitation, Studiously Concealed, Of The Eccentricities Of Poems Which Really Are Individual.

To A Poet The Mere Making Of A Poem Can Seem To Solve The Problem Of Truth…but Only A Problem Of Art Is Solved In Poetry.

When Modernist Poetry, Or What Not So Long Ago Passed For Modernist Poetry, Can Reach The Stage Where The Following Piece By Mr. Ezra Pound Is Seriously Offered As A Poem, There Is Some Justification For The Plain Reader And Orthodox Critic Who Shrinks From Anything That May Be Labelled 'modernist' Either In Terms Of Condemnation Or Approbation. Better He Thinks, That Ten Authentic Poets Should Be Left For Posterity To Discover Than One Charlatan Should Be Allowed To Steal Into The Temple Of Fame.

Because Most People Are Not Sufficiently Employed In Themselves, They Run About Loose, Hungering For Employment, And Satisfy Themselves In Various Supererogatory Occupations. The Easiest Of These Occupations, Which Have All To Do With Making Things Already Made, Is The Making Of People: It Is Called The Art Of Friendship.

In Religion Is Much Tiredness Of People, A Giving Over Of Their Doing To Someone Else.