Clearly money has something to do with life.

Death is no different whined at than withstood.

As a child, I thought I hated everybody, but when I grew up I realized it was just children I didn't like.

On me your voice falls as they say love should, Like an enormous yes.

It is fatal to decide, intellectually, what good poetry is because you are then in honour bound to try to write it, instead of the poems that only you can write.

The poetic impulse is distinct from ideas about things or feelings about things, though it may use these. It's more like a desire to separate a piece of one's experience & set it up on its own, an isolated object never to trouble you again, at least not for a bit. In the absence of this impulse nothing stirs.

And the case of butterflies so rich it looks As if all summer settled there and died.