After being published for twenty years by the big houses I got tired of every book being dumped only so the publisher could come back two years later on the next book and say, Ah, but you know, the last one didn’t do well. I always had this crazy idea that I was supposed to write the books and the publisher was supposed to sell them.
“Full well thou knowest, song, what grace I mean,
E’en as thou know’st the sunlight I have lost.
Thou knowest the way of it and know’st the sheen
About her brows where the rays are bound and crossed,
E’en as thou knowest joy and know’st joy’s bitter cost.
Thou know’st her grace in moving,
Thou dost her skill in loving,
Thou know’st what truth she proveth,
Thou knowest the heart she moveth,
O song where grief assoneth!”
Ezra Pound | “Ballata, Fragment”