Lay your sleeping head, my love, Human on my faithless arm.

Man is a history-making creature, who can neither repeat his past, nor leave it behind.

How should we like it were stars to burn With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me.

Words are for those with promises to keep.

Every high C accurately struck demolishes the theory that we are the irresponsible puppets of fate or chance.

A poet can write about a man slaying a dragon, but not about a man pushing a button that releases a bomb.

A poet is a professional maker of verbal objects.