What are we? Young or new? We must be something.

Two such as you with such a master speed Cannot be parted nor be swept away

I believe in teaching, but I don’t believe in going to school.

All thought is a feat of association; having what's in front of you bring up something in your mind that you almost didn't know you knew

The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift, The road is forlorn all day, Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift, And the hoof-prints vanish away. The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee, Expend their bloom in vain. Come over the hills and far with me, And be my love in the rain.

Nothing flatters me more than to have it assumed that I could write prose, unless it be to have it assumed that I once pitched a baseball with distinction.

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