The tides are in our veins, we still mirror the stars, life is your child, but there is in me Older and harder than life and more impartial, the eye that watched before there was an ocean.

This wild swan of a world is no hunter's game.

As for me, I would rather be a worm in a wild apple than a son of man. But we are what we are, and we might remember not to hate any person, for all are vicious; And not to be astonished at any evil, all are deserved; And not to fear death; it is the only way to be cleansed.

Imagination, the traitor of the mind, has taken my solitude and slain it.

...Science and mathematics Run parallel to reality, they symbolize it, they squint at it, They never touch it: consider what an explosion Would rock the bones of men into little white fragments and unsky the world If any mind for a moment touch truth.

Poetry is not a civilizer, rather the reverse, for great poetry appeals to the most primitive instincts.

Justice and mercy/ Are human dreams, they do not concern the birds nor the fish nor eternal God.