Somebody's little girl- how easy it is to make a sob story over who she once was and who she now is.

Let a joy keep you. Reach out your hands and take it when it runs by.

Poetry is a dance music measuring buck-and-wing follies along with the gravest and stateliest dead-marches.

I have become infected, now that I see how beautifully a book is coming out of all this.

The moon is a friend for the lonesome to talk to.

It is necessary ... for a man to go away by himself ... to sit on a rock ... and ask, 'Who am I, where have I been, and where am I going?

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.