It is with roses and locomotives (not to mention acrobats Spring electricity Coney Island the 4th of July the eyes of mice and Niagara Falls) that my poems are competing.
The artist is not a man who describes, but a man who feels.
love is the every only god
Art is a mystery. A mystery is something immeasurable.
Take the matter of being born. What does being born mean to most people?
Love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear; the strength so strong mere force is feebleness: the truth more first than sun, more last than star.