The mind is an enchanting thing is an enchanted thing, like the glaze on a katydid-wing subdivided by sun till the nettings are legion.
The hands are the heart's messengers.
Omissions are not accidents.
The self does not realize itself most fully when self-realization is its most constant aim.
One detects creative power by its capacity to conquer one's detachment.
I see no reason for calling my work poetry except that there is no other category in which to put it.