Reason? That dreary shed, that hutch for grubby schoolboys.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?

I can hear, underground, that sucking and sobbing, In my veins, in my bones I feel it,- The small water seeping upward, The tight grains parting at last. When sprouts break out, Slippery as fish, I quail, lean to beginnings, sheath-wet.

A too explicit elucidation in education destroys much of the pleasure of learning. There should be room for sly hinters, masters of suggestion.

(I measure time by how a body sways.)

The poet: would rather eat a heart than a hambone.

The self says, I am; The heart says, I am less; The spirit says, you are Nothing.