Death is the mother of beauty. Only the perishable can be beautiful, which is why we are unmoved by artificial flowers.
God and the imagination are one.
Thought tends to collect in pools.
The house was quiet and the world was calm. The reader became the book.
I certainly do not exist from nine to six, when I am at the office.
To name an object is to deprive a poem of three-fourths of its pleasure, which consists in a little-by-little guessing game; the ideal is to suggest.