I know what things are good: friendship and work and conversation. These I shall have.

I have a thousand images of you in an hour; all different and all coming back to the same. I think of you once against a sky line: and on the hill that Sunday morning. The light and the shadow and quietness and the rain and the wood. And you. Your arms and lips and hair and shoulders and voice - you.

And in that Heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish

Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.

Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead! There's none of these so lonely and poor of old, But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.

But somewhere, beyond Space and Time, is wetter water, slimier slime! And there (they trust) there swimmeth one who swam ere rivers were begun, immense of fishy form and mind, squamous omnipotent, and kind.

There are only three things in the world, one is to read poetry, another is to write poetry, and the best of all is to live poetry.