I could safely declare, I am an idealist... I believe in everything - I am only looking for proofs.

Poetry is a shuffling of boxes of illusions buckled with a strap of facts.

There are dreams stronger than death. Men and women die holding these dreams.

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.

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

Poetry is an enumeration of birds, bees, babies, butterflies, bugs, bambinos, babayagas, and bipeds, beating their way up bewildering bastions.

I have in later years taken to Euclid, Whitehead, Bertrand Russell, in an elemental way.