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

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

Your work is carved out of agony as a statue is carved out of marble.

Because language is the carrier of ideas, it is easy to believe that it should be very little else than such a carrier.

The intellectual is a middle-class product; if he is not born into the class he must soon insert himself into it, in order to exist. He is the fine nervous flower of the bourgeoisie.

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!

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