Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.
There are dreams stronger than death. Men and women die holding these dreams.
You know being born is important to you. You know nothing else was ever so important to you.
The drum in a dream pounds loud to the dreamer.
I see America, not in the setting sun of a black night of despair ahead of us, I see America in the crimson light of a rising sun fresh from the burning, creative hand of God. I see great days ahead, great days possible to men and women of will and vision.
Life is like an onion. You peel it off one layer at a time, and sometimes you weep.