A breeze discovered my open book And began to flutter the leaves to look

The test is always how we treat the poor.

What is this talked-of mystery of birth. But being mounted bareback on the earth?

A true sonnet goes eight lines and then takes a turn for better or worse and goes six or eight lines more.

At bottom the world isn't a joke. We only joke about it to avoid an issue with someone, to let someone know that we know he's there with his questions; to disarm him by seeming to have heard and done justice to his side of the standing argument.

A civilized society is one which tolerates eccentricity to the point of doubtful sanity.

Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away / You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.