I once saw a small child go to an electric light switch as say, "Mamma, can I open the light?" She was using the age-old language of exploration, the language of art. It was a sort of metaphor, but she was not using it as ornamentation.

— Ezra Pound

It is difficult to write a Paradise when all the superficial indications are that you ought to write an apocalypse.

— Ezra Pound

I wonder why the wind, even the wind doth seem To mock me now, all night, all night, and Have I strayed among the cliffs Martha say, some day I'll fall Down through the sea-bit fissures, and no foreknow the warm cloak of sun, or bathe The dew across my tired eyes to comfort them. They try to keep me hid within four walls. I will not stay!

— Ezra Pound

L'art Green arsenic smeared on an egg-white cloth, Crushed strawberries! Come, let us feast our eyes.

— Ezra Pound

Listen to me, attend me! And I will breathe into thee a soul, And thou shalt live forever.

— Ezra Pound

Literature is language charged with meaning

— Ezra Pound

Literature is news that stays news.

— Ezra Pound

Literature is news which stays news.

— Ezra Pound

Love thou thy dream All base love scorning, Love thou the wind And here take warning That dreams alone can truly be, For 'tis in dream I come to thee. Ezra Pound, The Song trad. Cigarette:Am ail to son Am ail to sognoOgni inferior more disprezzando, Il vent amazed according quiche i son solo poison Vermont essay, Perciò in son a raggiungerti m’Avvo.

— Ezra Pound

Man reading should be manned intensely alive. The book should be a ball of light in one's hand.

— Ezra Pound