We call those poets who are first to mark, Through earth's dull mist the coming of the dawn, Who see in twilight's gloom the first pale spark, While others only note that day is gone.

See how he throws his baited lines about,/And plays his men as anglers play their trout.

Rough work, iconoclasm, but the only way to get at truth.

A woman never forgets her sex. She would rather talk with a man than an angel, any day.

Civilization is the process of reducing the infinite to the finite.

Many people die with their music still in them. Why is this so? Too often it is because they are always getting ready to live. Before they know it, time runs out.

To reach a port we must sail, sometimes with the wind, and sometimes against it. But we must not drift or lie at anchor.