We thought we were done with these things but we were wrong. We thought, because we had power, we had wisdom.

Broad-streeted Richmond . . . The trees in the streets are old trees used to living with people, Family trees that remember your grandfather's name.

If two New Hampshiremen aren't a match for the devil, we might as well give the country back to the Indians.

Grant us brotherhood, not only for this day but for all our years - a brotherhood not of words but of acts and deeds.

Books are not men and yet they are alive. They are man's memory and his aspiration, the link between his present and his past, the tools he builds with.

We thought we were done with these things but we were wrong. We thought, because we had power, we had wisdom.

A phrase may come to me as I am walking, and, once I write it down in my journal, the rest of the poem will unravel from that catalyst.