Come, let us pity those who are better off than we are. Come, my friend, and remember that the rich have butlers and no friends, And we have friends and no butlers. (excerpt from 'The Garrett')

'Tis not need we know our every thought Or see the work shop where each mask is wrought Wherefrom we view the world of box and pit, Careless of wear, just so the mask shall fit And serve our jape's turn for a night or two.

As for literature It gives no man a sinecure. And no one knows, at sight, a masterpiece. And give up verse, my boy, There's nothing in it.

Literature is news that stays news.

Humanity is the rich effluvium, it is the waste and the manure and the soil, and from it grows the tree of the arts.

The primary pigment of poetry is the IMAGE.

Any general statement is like a check drawn on a bank. Its value depends on what is there to meet it.