The pigs stuck out their little feet and snored.

The art of losing isn't hard to master.

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?

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?

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.

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

Heaven is not like flying or swimming, but has something to do with blackness and a strong glare.