Someone loves us all.

Insomnia" perhaps she's a daytime sleeper.

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

Being a poet is one of the unhealthier jobs--no regular hours, so many temptations!

I am sorry for people who can't write letters. But I suspect also that you and I ... love to write them because it's kind of like working without really doing it.

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?

Time to plant tears, says the almanac. The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove and the child draws another inscrutable house.