But he would have us most of all remember to be enthusiastic over the night. Not only for the sense of wonder it alone has to offer but also because it needs our love. For with sad eyes its delectable creatures look up and beg us dumbly to ask them to follow. They are exiles who long for a future that lies in our power.

To me Art's subject is the human clay, / And landscape but a background to a torso; / All Cezanne's apples I would give away / For one small Goya or a Daumier.

Poetry makes nothing happen.

To be happy means to be free, not from pain or fear, but from care or anxiety.

The closest modern equivalent to the Homeric hero is the ace fighter pilot.

The trees encountered on a country stroll Reveal a lot about that country's soul ... A culture is no better than its woods.

I used to try and concentrate the poem so much that there wasn't a word that wasn't essential. This leads to becoming boring and constipated.