Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes.

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.

Arithmetic is numbers you squeeze from your head to your hand to your pencil to your paper till you get the answer.

I want to do the right thing, but often I don't know just what the right thing is. Every day I know I have come short of what I would like to have done. Yet as the years pass and I see the very world itself, with its oceans and mountains and plains, as something unfinished, a peculiar little satisfaction hunts out the corners of my heart. Sunsets and evening shadows find me regretful at task's undone, but sleep and the dawn and the air of the morning touch me with freshening hopes. Strange things blow in through my window on the wings of the night wind and I don't worry about my destiny.

Poetry is a type-font design for an alphabet of fun, hate, love, death.

The single clenched fist lifted and ready, Or the open asking hand held out and waiting. Choose: For we meet by one or the other.

Every blunder behind us is giving a cheer for us, and only for those who were willing to fail are the dangers and splendors of life.