Poetry is often generations in advance of the thought of its time.

Hate does not present many choices; if hate is your solution, you are fairly certain to hate all phemonena with equal joy and intensity, without troubling to drag into prominence any one feature from the loathsome whole.

... 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.

Up from the bronze, I saw Water without a flaw Rush to its rest in air Reach to its rest, and fall.

Women have no wilderness in them They are provident instead Content in the tight hot cell of their hearts To eat dusty bread.

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

It is through the acceptance of a variety of aethetic and intellectual points of view that a culture is given breadth and density.