I am overcome by my own amazing sloth...Can you please forgive me and believe that it is really because I want to do something well that I don't do it at all?

Why shouldn't we, so generally addicted to the gigantic, at last have some small works of art, some short poems, short pieces of music [...], some intimate, low-voiced, and delicate things in our mostly huge and roaring, glaring world?

Oh, must we dream our dreams and have them, too?

The art of losing isn't hard to master.

And as to experience-well, think how little some good poets have had, or how much some bad ones have.

What childishness is it that while there's breath of life in our bodies, we are determined to rush to see the sun the other way around?

All my life I have lived and behaved very much like the sandpiper - just running down the edges of different countries and continents, 'looking for something'.