Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.

And all poets love dust and mist because all the last answers. Go running back to dust and mist.

My room for books and study or for sitting and thinking about nothing in particular to see what would happen was at the end of a hall.

Time is the coin of our live. We must take care how we spend it.

The fog comes on little cat feet.

Man is a long time coming. Man will yet win. Brother may yet line up with brother: This old anvil laughs at many broken hammers.There are men who can't be bought.

I won't take my religion from any man who never works except with his mouth.