Not till the poets among us can be "literalists of the imagination"-above insolence and triviality and can present for inspection, "imaginary gardens with real toads in them." shall we have it.
There is a great amount of poetry in unconscious fastidiousness.
The heart that gives, gathers.
One detects creative power by its capacity to conquer one's detachment.
Poetry, that is to say the poetic, is a primal necessity.
... we do not admire what we cannot understand.