If poetry should address itself to the same needs and aspirations, the same hopes and fears, to which the Bible addresses itself, it might rival it in distribution.

Death is the mother of beauty. Only the perishable can be beautiful, which is why we are unmoved by artificial flowers.

We must endure our thoughts all night, until the bright obvious stands motionless in the cold.

Civilization must be destroyed. The hairy saints of the North have earned this crumb by their complaints.

It's not always easy to tell the difference between thinking and looking out of the window.

Sentimentality is a failure of feeling.

The belief in poetry is a magnificent fury, or it is nothing.