We think not in words but in shadows of words.

Which arrow flies for ever? The arrow that has hit its mark.

I would like to spare the time and effort of hack reviewers and, generally, persons who move their lips when reading.

The good, the admirable reader identifies himself not with the boy or the girl in the book, but with the mind that conceived and composed that book.

My loathings are simple. stupidity, oppression, crime, cruelty, soft music. My pleasures are the most intense known to man: writing and butterfly hunting.

It is a short walk from the hallelujah to the hoot.

in a sense, all poetry is positional: to try to express one's position in regard to the universe embraced by consciousness, is an immemorial urge. The arms of consciousness reach out and grope, and the longer they are the better. Tentacles, not wings, are Apollo's natural members.