Perhaps Samuel Johnson was a great man; he was certainly a drumbling one.

Look at this poet William Carlos Williams: he is primitive and native, and his roots are in raw forest and violent places; he is word-sick and place-crazy. He admires strength, but for what? Violence! This is the cult of the frontier mind.

Who has enough credit in this world to pay for his mistakes?

Of all the animals on earth, none is so brutish as man when he seeks the delirium of coition.

Man is at the nadir of his stregth when the Earth, the seas, the mountains are not in him, for without them his soul is unsourced, and he has no images by which to abide.

The Americans have always been food, sex, and spirit revivalists.

Everything ultimately fails, for we die, and that is either the penultimate failure or our most enigmatical achievement.