All that we do is touched with ocean, and yet we remain on the shore of what we know
The strength of the genie comes from being in a bottle.
What is the opposite of two? A lonely me, a lonely you.
Whatever pains disease may bring Are but the tangy seasoning To Loves delicious fare.
Outside the open window The morning air is all awash with angels.
Writing poetry is talking to oneself; yet it is a mode of talking to oneself in which the self disappears; and the product's something that, though it may not be for everybody, is about everybody.