The remarkable thing about television is that it permits several million people to laugh at the same joke and still feel lonely.

The poet's mind is in fact a receptacle for seizing and storing up numberless feelings, phrases, images, which remain there until all the particles which can unite to form a new compound are present together.

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

Moving between the legs of tables and of chairs, rising or falling, grasping at kisses and toys, advancing boldly, sudden to take alarm, retreating to the corner of arm and knee, eager to be reassured, taking pleasure in the fragrant brilliance of the Christmas tree.

What we know of other people's only our memory of the moments during which we knew them.

This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper.

not fare well, but fare forward