We have been a little insane about the truth. We have had an obsession.

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

The yellow glistens. It glistens with various yellows, Citrons, oranges and greens Flowering over the skin.

In poetry, you must love the words, the ideas and the images and rhythms with all your capacity to love anything at all.

The imagination loses vitality as it ceases to adhere to what is real. When it adheres to the unreal and intensifies what is unreal, while its first effect may be extraordinary, that effect is the maximum effect that it will ever have.

Poetry is the scholar's art.

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