What you want, what you're hanging around in the world waiting for, is for something to occur to you.

And were an epitaph to be my story I'd have a short one ready for my own. I would have written of me on my stone: I had a lover's quarrel with the world.

People who read me seem to be divided into four groups: twenty-five percent like me for the right reasons; twenty-five percent like me for the wrong reasons; twenty-five percent hate me for the wrong reasons; twenty-five percent hate me for the right reasons. It's that last twenty-five percent that worries me.

A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.

A voice said, Look me in the stars And tell me truly, men of earth, If all the soul-and-body scars Were not too much to pay for birth.

There are few sorrows, however poignant, in which a good income is of no avail.

Our very life depends on everything's Recurring till we answer from within.