Truth is far and flat, and fancy is fiery; and truth is cold, and people feel the cold, and they may wrap themselves against it in fancies that are fiery, but they should not call them facts; and, generally, poets do not; they are shrewd, they feel the cold, too, but they know a hawk from a handsaw, a fact from a fancy, as none knows better.

The sea was angry that day my friend, like an old man trying to send back soup at a deli.

Unpopular, lonely and loving, Elinor need not trouble, For if she were not so loving, She would not be so miserable.

People who are always praising the past And especially the time of faith as best Ought to go and live in the Middle Ages And be burnt at the stake as witches and sages.

There are moments of despair that come sometimes, when night sets in and a white fog presses against the windows. Then our house changes its shape, rears up and becomes a place of despair. Then fear and rage run simply--and the thought of Death as a friend. This is the simplest of thoughts, that Death must come when we call, although he is a god.

one never knows really how things are with other people, they just do always seem more spirited than oneself somehow.

Love is not love that wounded bleeds And bleeding sullies slow. Come death within my hands and I Unto my love will go.