Don't be an agnostic. Be something.

Modern poets talk against business, poor things, but all of us write for money. Beginners are subjected to trial by market.

Nature is always hinting at us. It hints over and over again. And suddenly we take the hint.

A champion of the workingman has never been known to die of overwork.

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

I hold it to be the inalienable right of anybody to go to hell in his own way.

The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day. When the sun is out and the wind is still, You're one month on in the middle of May. But if you so much as dare to speak, a cloud come over the sunlit arch, And wind comes off a frozen peak, And you're two months back in the middle of March.