Suddenly the whole imagination of writing and editorial and newspaper and all these presumptions about who am I reading this and who else other people may be and all that it's so grimly brutal!
That poetry survived in its formal agencies finally and that prose survived...
Television contracts the imagination and radio expands it.
Imagination is not something apart and hermetic not a way of leaving reality...
With the brush we merely tint while the imagination alone produces colour.
Anyone who lives within his means suffers from a lack of imagination.
I listened motionless and still And as I mounted up the hill The music in my heart I bore Long after it was heard no more.
