I believe verbal felicity is the fruit of ardor, of diligence, and of refusing to be false.

When you take my time, you take something I had meant to use.

I wonder what Adam and Eve think of it by this time.

the sea is a collector, quick to return a rapacious look.

Any writer overwhelmingly honest about pleasing himself is almost sure to please others.

I see no reason for calling my work poetry except that there is no other category in which to put it.

The heart that gives, gathers.