Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you – like music to the musician or Marxism to the Communist – or else it is nothing, an empty, formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

Source:Letter to Frances Scott Fitzgerald (August 3, 1940); in The Letters of F. Scott Fitzgerald (Charels Scribner's Sons, ed. 1963), Page 88
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