No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader.

Both T.S. Eliot and I like to play, but I like to play euchre, while he likes to play Eucharist.

Fortunately, we don't need to know how bad an age is. There is something we can always be doing without reference to how good or bad the age is.

Time and tide wait for no man, but time always stands still for a woman of 30.

For I have had too much Of apple-picking:I am overtired Of the great harvest I myself desired.

Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice.

The question that he frames in all but words is what to make of a diminished thing.