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 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.

I don't like quintessential certitude.

The poem is always the last resort. In it the poet makes a world in little, and finds peace, even though, under complete focused emotion, the evocation be far more bitter than reality, or far more lovely.

True revolutions in art restore more than they destroy.

A thousand kindnesses do not make up for a thousand blows.