The heart can think of no devotion Greater than being shore to the ocean- Holding the curve of one position, Counting an endless repetition.

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.

What you want, what you're hanging around in the world waiting for, is for something to occur to you.

The only way out is through.

I cut my own hair. I got sick of barbers because they talk too much. And too much of their talk was about my hair coming out.

Nor is there wanting in the press Some spirit to stand simply forth, Heroic in it nakedness, Against the uttermost of earth. The tale of earth's unhonored things Sounds nobler there than 'neath the sun; And the mind whirls and the heart sings, And a shout greets the daring one.

If one by one we counted people out