I wonder at the idleness of tears.

The sun pours out like wine.

A child without an acquaintance of some kind with a classic of literature ... suffers from that impoverishment for the rest of his life. No later intimacy is like that of the first.

The old faiths light their candles all about, but burly Truth comes by and puts them out.

For poetry, more than any other art, except music, has a compelling hold upon the spiritual side of life.

To hear that your neighbor was worse off than yourself was not an altogether unpleasant experience.

I wonder at the idleness of tears.