Once I thought that Lake Forest was the most glamorous place in the world. Maybe it was.

...I think he revalued everything in his house according to the measure of response it drew from her well-loved eyes.

When people are taken out of their depths they lose their heads, no matter how charming a bluff they may put up.

he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass.

To most women art is a form of scandal.

Tired, tired with nothing, tired with everything, tired with the world’s weight he had never chosen to bear.

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.