The music is in minors.

When you love a man, he becomes more than a body. His physical limbs expand, and his outline recedes, vanishes. He is rich and sweet and right. He is part of the world, the atmosphere, the blue sky and the blue water.

beware the easy griefs / that fool and fuel nothing.

Be yourself. Don't imitate other poets. You are as important as they are.

She was afraid to suggest to him that to most people, nothing "happens." That most people merely live from day to day until they die. That, after he had been dead a year, doubtless fewer than five people would think of him oftener than once a year. That there might even come a year when no one on earth would think of him at all.

Art hurts. Art urges voyages - and it is easier to stay at home.

When I start writing a poem, I don't think about models or about what anybody else in the world has done.