There are some people who can receive a truth by no other way than to have their understanding shocked and insulted.

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

Hope is an echo, hope ties itself yonder, yonder.

Freedom is baffling: men having it often know not they have it till it is gone and they no longer have it.

Enough small empty boxes thrown into a big empty box fill it full.

A liar goes in fine clothes, a liar goes in rags, a liar is a liar, clothes or no clothes.

It was here we turned the coffee cups upside down. And your eyes and the moon swept the valley.