No good poem, however confessional it may be, is just a self-expression. Who on earth would claim that the pearl expresses the oyster?

Term, holidays, term, holidays, till we leave school, and then work, work, work till we die.

All your life an unattainable ecstasy has hovered just beyond the grasp of your consciousness. The day is coming when you will wake to find, beyond all hope, that you have attained it, or else, that it was within your reach and you have lost it forever.

When first things are put first, second things are not suppressed but increased.

Even if there were pains in Heaven, all who understand would desire them.

I want God, not my idea of God.

Friendship is...the sort of love one can imagine between angels.