Poetry is a diary kept by a sea creature who lives on land and wishes he could fly.

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

There are men and women so lonely they believe God, too, is lonely.

There is a music for lonely hearts nearly always. If the music dies down there is a silence. Almost the same as the movement of music. To know silence perfectly is to know music.

Man is a long time coming. Man will yet win. Brother may yet line up with brother: This old anvil laughs at many broken hammers.There are men who can't be bought.

Poetry is a slipknot tightened around a time-beat of one thought, two thoughts, and a last interweaving thought there is not yet a number for.

Money buys everything except love, personality, freedom, immortality, silence, peace.