It is not possible, for a poet, writing in any language, to protect himself from the tragic elements in human life.... [ellipsis in source] Illness, old age, and death--subjects as ancient as humanity--these are the subjects that the poet must speak of very nearly from the first moment that he begins to speak.

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

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

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

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!

... 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.

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