We're either nothing or a God's regret.

Poetry is play. I'd even rather have you think of it as a sport. For instance, like football.

What is required is sight and insight- then you might add one more: excite.

Nature is always hinting at us. It hints over and over again. And suddenly we take the hint.

Nature does not complete things. She is chaotic. Man must finish, and he does so by making a garden and building a wall.

All those who try to go it sole alone, Too proud to be beholden for relief, Are absolutely sure to come to grief.

A person will sometimes devote all his life to the development of one part of his body - the wishbone.