The well of Providence is deep. It's the buckets we bring to it that are small.

We are tomorrow's past.

To many women marriage is only this. It is merely a physical change impinging on their ordinary nature, leaving their mentality untouched, their self-possession intact. They are not burnt by even the red fire of physical passion - far less by the white fire of love.

If you know much about your work - why you work, how you work, your aims - you are probably not a poet.

There is surely no more unselfish person than the anthologist. For while all we others are striving to ensure our own immortality with eagerness, beguilements, buffooneries, loud voices, 'the sound of battle and garments rolled in blood,' the anthologist is quietly ensuring the immortality of somebody else.

Fragrance is the voice of inanimate things.

The more anybody wants a thing, the more they do think others want it.