One of the pleasures of reading old letters is the knowledge that they need no answer.
I speak not of men's creeds—they rest between Man and his Maker.
Books, Manuals, Directives, Regulations. The geometries that circumscribe your working life draw norrower and norrower until nothing fits inside them anymore.
My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes.
It is the lava of the imagination whose eruption prevents an earthquake.
If I could always read, I should never feel the want of company.