Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.

We must always take risks. That is our destiny.

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

Dante and Shakespeare divide the world between them. There is no third.

Would it have been worth while, To have bitten off the matter with a smile, To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it towards some overwhelming question

Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.

To do the useful thing, to say the courageous thing, to contemplate the beautiful thing: that is enough for one man's life.