I wish the government would put a tax on pianos for the incompetent. - Edith Sitwell

I am one of those unhappy persons who inspire bores to the greatest flights of art.

Still falls the Rain
At the feet of the Starved Man hung upon the Cross.
Christ that each day, each night, nails there, have mercy on us —

White as a winding sheet, Masks blowing down the street:
Moscow, Paris London, Vienna — all are undone. The drums of death are mumbling, rumbling, and tumbling, Mumbling, rumbling, and tumbling, The world's floors are quaking, crumbling and breaking.