The man in the rock watches. The river, the mountains, the sky. Stoic. Does not feel joy, nor grief, pleasure, or pain. He is steadfast. Wishing me safe travels.
A great poet, a really great poet, is the most unpoetical of creatures. But inferior poets are absolutely fascinating. The worse their rhymes, the more picturesque they look. The mere fact of having published a book of second-rate sonnets make a man quite irresistible. He lives the poetry he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they dare not realize.
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