I dwell in possiblities.

The possible's slow fuse is lit by the Imagination.

I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.

The Truth must dazzle gradually or every man be blind.

We do not play on Graves— Because there isn't Room— Besides—it isn't even—it slants And People come— And put a Flower on it— And hang their faces so— We're fearing that their Hearts will drop— And crush our pretty play— And so we move as far As Enemies—away— Just looking round to see how far It is—Occasionally—

Existence has overpowered Books. Today I slew a Mushroom.

Until you have loved, you cannot become yourself.