Some men are more interesting than their books but my book is more interesting than its man.

I think that to transfuse emotion - not to transmit thought but to set up in the reader's sense a vibration corresponding to what was felt by the writer - is the peculiar function of poetry.

Stone, steel, dominions pass, Faith too, no wonder; So leave alone the grass That I am under.

And how am I to face the odds Of man's bedevilment and God's? I, a stranger and afraid In a world I never made.

In every American there is an air of incorrigible innocence, which seems to conceal a diabolical cunning.

When the journey's over/There'll be time enough to sleep.

His folly has not fellow Beneath the blue of day That gives to man or woman His heart and soul away.