What we live by we die by.

One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

The figure a poem makes. It begins in delight and ends in wisdom... in a clarification of life - not necessarily a great clarification, such as sects and cults are founded on, but in a momentary stay against confusion.

All those who try to go it sole alone, Too proud to be beholden for relief, Are absolutely sure to come to grief.

And nothing to look backward to with pride, and nothing to look forward to with hope.

Nothing is quite honest that is not commercial, but not everything commercial is honest.

Life must be kept up at a great rate in order to absorb any considerable amount of learning.