I try to forget what happiness was, and when that don't work, I study the stars.

The time will come when, with elation, you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror, and each will smile at the other’s welcome.

She's a rare vase, out of a cat's reach, on its shelf.

When poems are no good they don't make any sense.

I know when dark-haired evening put on her bright silk at sunset, and, folding the sea sidled under the sheet with her starry laugh, that there'd be no rest, there'd be no forgetting. Is like telling mourners round the graveside about resurrection, they want the dead back.

What are men? Children who doubt.

The first thing we have to do is get rid of the pentameter. To ditch the pentameter.