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

I could define poetry this way: it is that which is lost out of both prose and verse in translation.

I have never started a poem yet whose end I knew. Writing a poem is discovering.

The rain to the wind said, You push and I'll pelt.' They so smote the garden bed That the flowers actually knelt, And lay lodged--though not dead. I know how the flowers felt.

The father is always a Republican toward his son, and his mother's always a Democrat.

We can make a little order where we are, and then the big sweep of history on which we can have no effect doesn't overwhelm us. We do it with colors, with a garden, with the furnishings of a room, or with sounds and words. We make a little form, and we gain composure.

"If it were a dog, it would have bitten you already." Actual Twents: "At e ne hond was, dan e oew allange ebettene." Meaning: Said to someone who is looking for something which is right under his nose. Source: Twents Woordenbook. Twents in Woord en Gebruik.