Most modern reproducers of life, even including the camera, really repudiate it. We gulp down evil, choke at good.

Beauty is momentary in the mind -- The fitful tracing of a portal; But in the flesh it is immortal. The body dies; the body's beauty lives. So evenings die, in their green going, A wave, interminably flowing.

They said, 'You have a blue guitar, / You do not play things as they are.' / The man replied, 'Things as they are / Are changed upon the blue guitar.'

At the sight of blackbirds Flying in a green light, Even the bawds of euphony Would cry out sharply.

How full of trifles everything is! It is only one's thoughts that fill a room with something more than furniture.

It is the sea that whitens the roof. The sea drifts through the winter air. It is the sea that the north wind makes. The sea is in the falling snow.

The house was quiet and the world was calm. The reader became the book.