The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Ports are necessities, like postage stamps or soap, but they seldom seem to care what impressions they make.

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.

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.

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

But he sleeps on the top of his mast with his eyes closed tight. The gull inquired into his dream, which was, "I must not fall. The spangled sea below wants me to fall. It is hard as diamonds; it wants to destroy us all.

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