I was made at right angles to the world and I see it so. I can only see it so.

Something needn't be large to be good.

If after I read a poem the world looks like that poem for 24 hours or so I'm sure it's a good one—and the same goes for paintings.

What one seems to want in art, in experiencing it, is the same thing that is necessary for its creation, a self-forgetful, perfectly useless concentration.

The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Close, close all night the lovers keep. They turn together in their sleep, Close as two pages in a book that read each other in the dark. Each knows all the other knows, learned by heart from head to toes.

What the Man-Moth fears most he must do.