Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation's tears in shoulder blades.

How wonderful to be alive, he thought. But why does it always hurt?

In life it is more necessary to lose than to gain. A seed will only germinate if it dies.

Lara walked along the tracks following a path worn by pilgrims and then turned into the fields. Here she stopped and, closing her eyes, took a deep breath of the flower-scented air of the broad expanse around her. It was dearer to her than her kin, better than a lover, wiser than a book. For a moment she rediscovered the purpose of her life. She was here on earth to grasp the meaning of its wild enchantment and to call each thing by its right name, or, if this were not within her power, to give birth out of love for life to successors who would do it in her place.

Most people experience love, without noticing that there is anything remarkable about it.

What for centuries raised man above the beast is not the cudgel but the irresistible power of unarmed truth.

A corner draft fluttered the flame And the white fever of temptation Upswept its angel wings that cast A cruciform shadow.