Yes, and even for the past...that it will turn out to have been all right for what it was. Something I can accept. Mistakes made by the self I had to be or was not able to be.

The fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows.

I am not a teacher. I am an awakener.

Forgive, O Lord, my little jokes on Thee, and I'll forgive Thy great big joke on me.

Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting. . . . Read it a hundred times; it will forever keep its freshness as a metal keeps its fragrance. It can never lose its sense of a meaning that once unfolded by surprise as it went.

Nature's first green is gold.

I never feel more at home than at a ballgame.