If you haven’t the strength to impose your own terms upon life, then you must accept the terms it offers you.

I think we are in rats’ alley Where the dead men lost their bones.

What a poem means is as much what it means to others as what it means to the author; and indeed, in the course of time a poet may become merely reader in respect to his own works, forgetting his original meaning.

At the still point, there the dance is.

Do I dare disturb the universe?

There is no method but to be very intelligent.

You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; They called me the hyacinth girl.' —Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden, Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, Looking into the heart of light, the silence. Od' und leer das Meer.