There are few sorrows, however poignant, in which a good income is of no avail.
The question that he frames in all but words is what to make of a diminished thing.
It should be of the pleasure of a poem itself to tell how it can. The figure a poem makes. It begins in delight and ends in wisdom. The figure is the same for love.
Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know what I was walling in or walling out.
If one by one we counted people out