He had angered Providence by resisting too many temptations. There was nothing left but heaven, where he would meet only those who, like him, had was… - F. Scott Fitzgerald

We want to believe. Young students try to believe in older authors, constituents try to believe in their Congressmen, countries try to believe in their statesmen, but they can't. Too many voices, too much scattered, illogical ill-considered criticism.

Poetry is dying first. It'll be absorbed into prose sooner or later.

"And he could not tell why the struggle was worthwhile, why he had determined to use the utmost himself and his heritage from the personalities he had passed...

He stretched out his arms to the crystalline, radiant sky.

I know myself," he cried, "But that is all."