New York is a field of tireless and antagonistic interests undoubtedly fascinating but horribly unreal. Everybody is looking at everybody else a foolish crowd walking on mirrors.

The imperfect is our paradise.

The summer night is like a perfection of thought.

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.

Human nature is like water. It takes the shape of its container.

Poetry is a response to the daily necessity of getting the world right.

The philosopher proves that the philosopher exists. The poet merely enjoys existence.