Priests ... These Turkey-cocks Of

For Out Of Fear And Need Each Religion Is Born, Creeping Into Existence On The Byways Or Reason.

To Those Human Beings Who Are Of Any Concern To Me, I Wish Suffering, Desolation, Sickness, Ill Treatment, Indignities, Profound Self-contempt, The Torture Of Self-mistrust, And The Wretchedness Of The Vanquished.

Tragedy Is Dead! Poetry Itself Died With It! Away, Away With You, Puny, Stunted Imitators! Away With You To Hades, And Eat Your Fill Of The Old Masters' Crumbs!

We Belong To An Age Whose Culture Is In Danger Of Perishing Through The Means To Culture.

I Am Almost Equal To A Shadow.