Poetry is a sort of inspired mathematics, which gives us equations, not for abstract figures, triangles, squares, and the like, but for the human emotions. If one has a mind which inclines to magic rather than science, one will prefer to speak of these equations as spells or incantations; it sounds more arcane, mysterious, recondite.

People find ideas a bore because they do not distinguish between live ones and stuffed ones on a shelf.

The serious artist must be as open as nature. Nature does not give all of herself in a paragraph. She is rugged and not set apart into discreet categories.

where the dead walked and the living were made of cardboard.

Allow me to say that I would long since have committed suicide had desisting made me a professor of Latin.

I have tried to write Paradise Do not move Let the wind speak that is paradise. Let the Gods forgive what I have made Let those I love try to forgive what I have made.

Colloquial poetry is to the real art as the barber's wax dummy is to sculpture.