Schoolchildren all over America are told to write to authors-often to authors whom they have never before heard of, whose work they are to young to understand in the least, and often in letters which are almost illiterate. If children are to be taught to respect the work of American poets I think some better way might be found to do so- some way which would not make such an inconsiderate demand on the author's time.

All lovely things will have an ending, all lovely things will fade and die; and youth, that's now so bravely spending, Will beg a penny by and by.

I've tried it long ago, with hashish and peyote. Fascinating, yes, but no good, no. This, as we find in alcohol, is an escape from awareness, a cheat, a momentary substitution, and in the end a destruction of it.

The one you love leans forward, smiles, deceives you, Opens a door through which you see dark dreams.

Poetry will absorb and transmute, as it always has done, and glorify, all that we can know.

I'm not in the least Southern; I'm entirely New England.

I'm afraid I wasn't much of a student, but my casual reading was enormous.