…Forgive us, O Lord, we acknowledge ourselves as type of the common man, Of the men and women who shut the door and sit by the fire; Who fear the blessing of God, the loneliness of the night of God, the surrender required, the deprivation inflicted; Who fear the injustice of men less than the justice of God; Who fear the hand at the window, the fire in the thatch, the fist in the tavern, the push into the canal, Less than we fear the love of God.

The hint half guessed, the gift half understood, is Incarnation.

In the mountains, there you feel free.

Those who arrive at the end of the journey are not those who began.

We ask only to be reassured About the noises in the cellar And the window that should not have been open

Maturing as a poet means maturing as the whole man, experiencing new emotions appropriate to one's age, and with the same intensity as the emotions of youth.

A condition of complete simplicity (Costing not less than everything)