Didn't you tie the mittens on her feet (Wednesday Evening's) extra special nice? Yes--she is an extra special nice pigeon. She cries for pity when she wants pity. And she shuts her eyes when she doesn't want to look at you. And if you look deep in her eyes when her eyes are open you will see lights there exactly like the lights on the pastures and the meadows when the mist is drifting on a Wednesday evening just between the twilight and gloaming.

Lips half-willing in a doorway. Lips half-singing at a window. Eyes half-dreaming in the walls. Feet half-dancing in a kitchen. Even the clocks half-yawn the hours And the farmers make half-answers.

An expert is a damn fool a long way from home.

What is there more of in the world than anything else? Ends.

There was always the consolation that if I didn't like what I wrote I could throw it away or burn it.

We read Robert Browning's poetry. Here we needed no guidance from the professor: the poems themselves were enough.

Who am I, where have I been, and where am I going?