Wit is the only wall between us and the dark.

There is no appeal from the ways of the world, which must continue on its own terms or take us all down with it into chaos and confusion.

To be what no one ever was, to be what everyone has been: Freedom is the mean of those extremes that fence all effort in.

The job of the poet is to render the world-to see it and report it without loss, without perversion. No poet ever talks about feelings. Only sentimental people do.

Respect for the Truth is an acquired taste.

It’s a curious thing. I suppose most people think of artists as impatient but I don’t know of any first-rate artist who hasn’t manifested in his career an appalling patience, a willingness to wait and to do his best now in the expectation that next year he will do better.

Memory performs the impossible for man by the strength of his divine arms; holds together past and present, beholding both, existing in both, abides in the flowing, and gives continuity and dignity to human life.