Life is a quest and love a quarrel

To be grown up is to sit at the table with people who have died, who neither listen nor speak.

When I can make Of ten small words a rope to hang the world! "I had you and I have you now no more.

The world stands out on either side, No wider than the heart is wide.

Spring TO what purpose, April, do you return again? Beauty is not enough. You can no longer quiet me with the redness Of little leaves opening stickily. I know what I know. The sun is hot on my neck as I observe The spikes of the crocus. The smell of the earth is good. It is apparent that there is no death. But what does that signify? Not only under ground are the brains of men Eaten by maggots. Life in itself Is nothing, An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs. It is not enough that yearly, down this hill, April Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

Heap not on this mound roses that she loved so well; why bewilder her with roses that she cannot see or smell.

And he whose soul is flat -- the sky Will cave in on him by and by.