At least the Pilgrim Fathers used to shoot Indians: the Pilgrim Children merely punch time clocks.

his lips drink water but his heart drinks wine

Humanity i love you because you are perpetually putting the secret of life in your pants and forgetting it's there and sitting down on it and because you are forever making poems in the lap of death Humanity i hate you

Art is a mystery. A mystery is something immeasurable.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

When skies are hanged and oceans drowned, the single secret will still be man

You have played, (I think) And broke the toys you were fondest of, And are a little tired now; Tired of things that break, and— Just tired. So am I.