Treat my book as a pair of glasses directed to the outside; if they don’t suit you, find another pair; I leave it to you to find your own instrument, which is necessarily an investment for combat.
“All things worth praise
That unto Khadeeth’s mart have
From far been brought through perils over-passed,
All santal, myrrh, and spikenard that disarms
The pard’s swift anger; these would weigh but light
‘Gainst thy delights, my Khadeeth! Whence protected
By naught save her great grace that in him showeth,
My song goes forth and on her mercy calleth.”
Ezra Pound | “Canzon: Of Incense”