Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you -- like music to the musician or Marxism to the Communist -- or else it is nothing, an empty, formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

The transition from libertine to prig was so complete.

As we passed over the dark bridge her wan face fell lazily against my coat's shoulder and the formidable stroke of thirty died away with the reassuring pressure of her hand.

Happiness, remarked Maury Noble one day, is only the first hour after the alleviation of some especially intense misery.

I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known.

One thin's sure and nothing's surer The rich get richer and the poor get - children. In the meantime, In between time...

mother says that two souls are sometimes created together and--and in love before they're born.