I hope that one or two immortal lyrics will come out of all this tumbling around.

No more pronouncements on lousy verse. No more hidden competition. No more struggling not to be a square.

The measured blood beats out the year's delay.

... how much of our inner substance is it good for us to give to public griefs? The whole modern tendency to agonize over the suffering of the entire globe is surely something new.

I cannot believe that the inscrutable universe turns on an axis of suffering; surely the strange beauty of the world must somewhere rest on pure joy!

I have lost faith in universal panaceas - work is the one thing in which I really believe.

O remember In your narrowing dark hours That more things move Than blood in the heart.