There is an eagle in me that wants to soar, and there is a hippopotamus in me that wants to wallow in the mud.

Every blunder behind us is giving a cheer for us, and only for those who were willing to fail are the dangers and splendors of life.

The squeaky wheel gets the grease but the quacking duck gets shot.

Poetry is a theorem of a yellow-silk handkerchief knotted with riddles, sealed in a balloon tied to the tail of a kite flying in a white wind against a blue sky in spring.

Yesterday and tomorrow cross and mix on the skyline. The two are lost in a purple haze. One forgets, one waits.

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

Let your heart look on white sea spray and be lonely. Love is a fool star. You and a ring of stars may mention my name and then forget me. Love is a fool star.