Only truthful hands write true poems. I cannot see any basic difference between a handshake and a poem.
“It is, finally, a word is untimely in three different senses, and bearing it as one's treasure will not win one anyone's favours; one rather risks finding oneself outside everyone's camp... Beauty is the word that shall be our first.”
“I decided that, somehow, I had to get out of there and go to Hollywood. I had never been to America.”