One joins the movement in a valueless world, Choosing it, till both hurler and the hurled, One moves as well, always toward, toward.

Thus for each blunt-faced ignorant one The great grey rigid uniform combined Safety with virtue of the sun. Thus concepts linked like chainmail in the mind.

Distorting hackneyed words in hackneyed songs He turns revolt into a style, prolongs The impulse to a habit of the time.

Direct me gods, whose changes are all holy, To where it flickers deep in grass, the moly.

It is good to follow one's own bent, so long as it leads upward.

The work of a director can be summed up in two very simple words. Why and How.

I don't want to do something for the sake of it. I am prepared to wait. If I wait until I am buried, too bad.