In most cases, when the lion, weary of obeying its master, has torn and devoured him, its nerves are pacified and it looks round for another master before whom to grovel.

My poems mean what people take them to mean.

Breath, dreams, silence, invincible calm, you triumph.

My hand feels touched as well as it touches; reality says this, and nothing more.

What is simple is false and what is not is useless.

If the Ego is hateful, Love your neighbor as yourself becomes a cruel irony.

The power of verse stems from an indefinable harmony between when it says and what it is.