“I'd love to have the whole place swimming in roses”
Poetry, even when apparently most fantastic, is always a revolt against artifice, a revolt, in a sense, against actuality.
A man of genius makes no mistakes; his errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.
“Her antiquity in preceding and surviving succeeding tellurian generations: her nocturnal predominance: her satellitic dependence: her luminary reflection: her constancy under all her phases, rising and setting by her appointed times, waxing and waning: the forced invariability of her aspect: her indeterminate response to inaffirmative interrogation: her potency over effluent and refluent waters: her power to enamour, to mortify, to invest with beauty, to render insane, to incite to and aid de
Roy E. Disney