I AM INTENT ON
A HUNDRED THINGS
It is snowing again on the little fields - I don't
know why, nor have even a privilege to such
information. Let it snow, and come down, white
as it wants. What care I? Men, fields, wild mice,
everything conspires together. It will pass and a
Spring will somehow arrive. I'll be around for that.
-
My constitution remains strong enough to understand;
differences, opinions, overlaps, interpretations. I am
as good as the best scholarly book : where you'd want
to go, what you'd be interested in, yes, I can take you.
I am intent on a hundred things, and will get to them all.
-
The world will end, I've heard it mentioned, not with a
fury but with a whimper - something like that; not with
a bang, Eliot, one of those neatnik, fussy cranks of old.
Who cares, and what do they know? The only fury I've
ever beheld is the flame on a matchstick's end, fighting
its way to a pipe or a cigar. Light. Fire. Demon. Fury.
Actually, I'd rather all that than the whimper.
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