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.

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

Poetry is a fresh morning spider-web telling a story of moonlit hours of weaving and waiting during a night.

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

Ordering a man to write a poem is like commanding a pregnant woman to give birth to a red-headed child.

If I added to their pride of America, I am happy.

The scholars and poets of an earlier time can be read only with a dictionary to help.