the ordinary man's experience is chaotic, irregular, fragmentary. [He] falls in love or reads Spinoza, and these two experiences have nothing to do with each other, or with the noise of the typewriter, or the smell of cooking; in the mind of the poet these experiences are always forming new wholes

A good poet will usually borrow from authors remote in time, or alien in language, or diverse in interest.

When the whole world is running headlong towards the precipice, one who walks in the opposite direction is looked at as being crazy.

Not less of love, but expanding Of love beyond desire, and so liberation From the Future as well as the past.

O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark, The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant

All significant truths are private truths. As they become public they cease to become truths; they become facts, or at best, part of the public character; or at worst, catchwords.

The eastern light our spires touch at morning, The light that slants upon our western doors at evening, The twilight over stagnant pools at batflight, Moon light and star light, owl and moth light, Glow-worm glowlight on a grassblade. O Light Invisible, we worship Thee!