I write as if to save somebody’s life. Probably my own. Life is a kind of madness that death makes. Long live the dead because we live in them.
“‘If naught I give, naught do I take return.
“Ronsard me celebroit!” behold I give
The age-old, age-old fare to fairer fair
And I fare forth into more bitter air;
Though mocked I go, yet shall her beauty live
Till rimes unrime and Truth shall truth unlearn.’”
Ezra Pound | Sonnet in Tenzone