Our host received a piece of paper from my familiar spirit. I asked if he were giving him a check or note to pay the bill. He answered no, that he had settled the account with a poem. 'What? A poem?' I asked. 'Are innkeepers curious about rhymes?' 'It's the local currency,' he answered. 'The sextain I've just given him will cover our expenses. I wasn't afraid of coming up short. Even if we'd spent a week in luxury, it wouldn't have cost a sonnet, and I have four on me. Along with two epigrams, two odes and an eclogue.'

I felt the body I was occupying so weakened that all its organs were shutting down. I asked the way to the hospital, and as soon as I walked in I discovered th…

One day, my male companion (they took me for the female) told me what had really caused him to wander about the world and finally to leave it for the Moon. He …

You imagine that what you can't understand is either spiritual or does not exist. The conclusion is quite wrong; rather there are obviously a million things in…

It may happen in the next hundred years that the English novelists of the present day will come to be valued as we now value the artists and craftsmen of the l…

Professional critics are incapable of distinguishing and appreciating either diamonds in the rough or gold in bars. They are traders, and in literature know on…

It is hard to be finite upon an infinite subject, and all subjects are infinite. By some people, this entire scrawl of mine may be esteemed altogether unnecess…