Man is an over-complicated organism. If he is doomed to extinction he will die out for want of simplicity.

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.

It is difficult to write a paradiso when all the superficial indications are that you ought to write an apocalypse.

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')

The rustling of the silk is discontinued, Dust drifts over the courtyard, There is not sound of footfall, and the leaves Scurry into heaps and lie still, And she the rejoicer of the heart is beneath them: A wet leaf that clings to the threshold.

What matters most is not the idea, but the capacity to believe in it completely.

The difference between a gun and a tree is a difference of tempo. The tree explodes every spring.