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" "There is no poetry of distinction without formal invention, for it is in the intimate form that works of art achieve their exact meaning, in which they most resemble the machine, to give language its highest dignity, its illumination in the environment to which it is native. Such war, as the arts live and breathe by, is continuous. It may be that my interests as expressed here are pre-art. If so I look for a development along these lines and will be satisfied with nothing else.
William Carlos Williams (17 September 1883 – 4 March 1963) was an American poet and physician.
Biography information from Wikiquote
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Hell, New Jersey, it said on the letter. Delivered without comment. So be it! Run from it, if you will. So be it. (Winds that enshroud us in their folds — or no wind). So be it. Pull at the doors, of a hot afternoon, doors that the wind holds, wrenches from our arms — and hands. So be it. The Library is sanctuary to our fears. So be it. So be it. — the wind that has tripped us, pressed upon us, prurient or upon the prurience of our fears — laughter fading. So be it.