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

Didn't you tie the mittens on her feet (Wednesday Evening's) extra special nice? Yes--she is an extra special nice pigeon. She cries for pity when she wants pity. And she shuts her eyes when she doesn't want to look at you. And if you look deep in her eyes when her eyes are open you will see lights there exactly like the lights on the pastures and the meadows when the mist is drifting on a Wednesday evening just between the twilight and gloaming.

And even now she beats her head against the bars in the same old way and wonders if there is a bigger place the railroads run to from Chicago where maybe there is romance and big things and real dreams that never go smash.

Why does a hearse horse snicker, hauling a lawyer away?

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

Ordering a man to write a poem is like commanding a pregnant woman to give birth to a red-headed child.

To never see a fool you lock yourself in your room and smash the looking-glass.