A light here required a shadow there.

It is strange how a scrap of poetry works in the mind and makes the legs move in time to it along the road.

Whenever you see a board up with "Trespassers will be prosecuted," trespass at once.

Who shall measure the hat and violence of the poet's heart when caught and tangled in a woman's body?

A woman knows very well that, though a wit sends her his poems, praises her judgment, solicits her criticism, and drinks her tea, this by no means signifies that he respects her opinions, admires her understanding, or will refuse, though the rapier is denied him, to run through the body with his pen.

Criticism? An artist wants praise. Praise.

There'll be oceans of talk and emotions without end.