A poem is true if it hangs together. Information points to something else. A poem points to nothing but itself.

The armour of falsehood is subtly wrought out of darkness, and hides a man not only from others, but from his own soul.

They go forth [into the world] with well-developed bodies, fairly developed minds and undeveloped hearts. An undeveloped heart - not a cold one. The difference is important.

It is easy to sympathize at a distance,' said an old gentleman with a beard. 'I value more the kind word that is spoken close to my ear.

There are occasions when I would rather feel like a fly than a spider.

She only felt that the candle would burn better, the packing go easier, the world be happier, if she could give and receive some human love.

Spoon feeding in the long run teaches us nothing but the shape of the spoon.