Now no joy but lacks salt That is not dashed with pain And weariness and fault; I crave the stain Of tears, the aftermark Of almost too much love, The sweet of bitter bark And burning clove.

Style is less the man than the way a man takes himself.

I end not far from my going forth By picking the faded blue Of the last remaining aster flower To carry again to you.

It's hard to get into this world and hard to get out of it, and what's in between doesn't make much sense.

I think I know enough of hate to say that for destruction ice is also great and would suffice.

If the day ever comes when they know who They are, they may know better where they are.

Education doesn't change life much. It just lifts trouble to a higher plane of regard.