Poetry, it is often said and loudly so, is life's true mirror. But a monkey looking into a work of literature looks in vain for Socrates.

The spirit of poetry combines the profundity of the philosopher and the child's delight in bright pictures.

How frightening it is to have reached the height of human accomplishment in art that must forever borrow from life's abundance.

Plato calls complacency the companion of loneliness.

Once you have looked at the land from atop the Kahlenberg, you will understand what I write and who I am.

Our poetry emulates the recent progress in military strategy: Our army's strength is the foot soldiers.

Critics are reprimanded when they get sarcastic. How absurd! Is the torch of criticism supposed to shine without burning?