It seems, after all that there are no nonpeculiar people.
The writer cannot make the seas of distraction stand still, but he [or she] can at times come between the madly distracted and the distractions.
O Lord! he concluded, forgive all these trespasses. Lead me not into Penn Station.
I think that art has something to do with an arrest of attention in the midst of distraction.
Each man has his own batch of poems.
The terms which, in his inmost heart, each man knows. As I know mine. As all know. For that is the truth of it — that we all know, God, that we know, that we know, we know, we know.