It is impossible to design a system so perfect that no one needs to be good.

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.

Cling, swing, Spring, sing, Swing up into the apple tree.

But it seems that something has happened that has never happened before: though we know not just when, or why, or how, or where.

An editor should tell the author his writing is better than it is. Not a lot better, a little better.

The majority of poems one outgrows and outlives, as one outgrows and outlives the majority of human passions.

To make an end is to make a beginning.