The writer asks himself, 'Can I think of a plot that will parallel this? Can I take this work of literature as an example of something I might produce?' Let us, then, consider literature as a productive science.
I like the trivial, vulgar and exalted.
The finder of his theme will be at no loss for words.
What demon is our god? What name subsumes
That act external to our sleeping selves?
Not pleasure - it is much too broad and narrow, -
Not sex, not for the moment love, but pride,
And not in prowess, but pride undefined,
Autonomous in its unthought demands,
A bit of vanity, but mostly pride.
This Humanist whom no beliefs constrained Grew so broad-minded he was scatter-brained.
Naked I came, naked I leave the scene
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