I am a native in this world And think in it as a native thinks - Wallace Stevens

That's what misery is, Nothing to have at heart. It is to have or nothing.<p>It is a thing to have, A lion, an ox in his breast, To feel it breathing there.<p>Corazon, stout dog, Young ox, bow-legged bear, He tastes its blood, not spit.<p>He is like a man In the body of a violent beast. Its muscles are his own...<p>The lion sleeps in the sun. Its nose is on its paws. It can kill a man.

Phoebus is dead, ephebe. But Phoebus was A name for something that never could be named. There was a project for the sun and is. There is a project for the sun. The sun Must bear no name, gold flourisher, but be In the difficulty of what it is to be.

The best definition of true imagination is that it is the sum of our faculties. Poetry is the scholar's art. The acute intelligence of the imagination, the illimitable resources of its memory, its power to possess the moment it perceives — if we were speaking of light itself, and thinking of the relationship between objects and light, no further demonstration would be necessary . . . What light requires a day to do, and by day I mean a kind of Biblical revolution of time, the imagination does in the twinkling of an eye. It colors, increases, brings to a beginning and end, invents languages, crushes men, and, for that matter, gods in its hands, it says to women more than it is possible to say, it rescues all of us from what we have called absolute fact...