Poetry is a peerless proficiency of the imagination.

The cynics in life are the people who are always trying to do things for people who don't want things done for them.

As for butterflies, I can hardly conceive of one's attending upon you; but to question the congruence of the complement is vain, if it exists.

All are / naked, none is safe.

The Irish say your trouble is their trouble and your joy their joy? I wish I could believe it; I am troubled, I'm dissatisfied, I'm Irish.

What is our innocence, What is our guilt? All are naked, none is safe.

Below the incandescent stars / below the incandescent fruit, / the strange experience of beauty; / its existence is too much; / it tears one to pieces / and each fresh wave of consciousness / is poison.