It is never the thing but the version of the thing.

Metaphor creates a new reality from which the original appears to be unreal.

My tribute to mystical, magical trees that the Cherokee called "standing people. . . ."

I know noble accents And lucid, inescapable rhythms; But I know, too, That the blackbird is involved In what I know.

It is the imagination pressing back against the pressure of reality. It seems, in the last analysis, to have something to do with our self-preservation; and that, no doubt, is why the expression of it, the sound of its words, helps us to live our lives.

Just as my fingers on these keys make music, so the self-same sounds on my spirit make a music too.

Poetry increases the feeling for reality.