The moon is nothing But a circumambulating aphrodisiac Divinely subsidized to provoke the world Into a rising birth-rate
Imagination is the wide-open eye which leads us always to see truth more vividly.
Day's work is still to do, Whatever the day's doom.
How can we be scrupulous In a life which, from birth onwards, is so determined To wring us dry of any serenity at all?
In our plain defects we already know the brotherhood of man.
Poetry is a language in which man explores his own amazement.