The purpose of poetry is to remind us / how difficult it is to remain just one person.

Grow your tree of falsehood from a small grain of truth.

The death of a man is like the fall of a mighty nation That had valiant armies, captains, and prophets, And wealthy ports and ships all over the seas.

Evil grows and bears fruit, which is understandable, because it has logic and probability on its side and also, of course, strength. The resistance of tiny kernels of good, to which no one grants the power of causing far-reaching consequences, is entirely mysterious, however. Such seeming nothingness not only lasts but contains within itself enormous energy which is revealed gradually.

Learning To believe you are magnificent. And gradually to discover that you are not magnificent. Enough labor for one human life.

On the day the world ends A bee circles a clover, A fisherman mends a glimmering net.

A true opium of the people is a belief in nothingness after death.