Good fences make good neighbors.
Something we were withholding made us weak, until we found it was ourselves.
Happiness makes up in height for what it lacks in length.
Talking is a hydrant in the yard and writing is a faucet upstairs in the house. Opening the first takes the pressure off the second.
The ear is the only true writer and the only true reader.
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.