We live in an old chaos of the sun.

After the leaves have fallen, we return To a plain sense of things. It is as if We had come to an end of the imagination, Inanimate in an inert savoir.

It gives a man character as a poet to have a daily contact with a job. I doubt whether I've lost a thing by leading an exceedingly regular and disciplined life.

Throw away the light, the definitions, and say what you see in the dark.

Life is an affair of people not of places. But for me, life is an affair of places and that is the trouble.

The genuine artist is never 'true to life.' He sees what is real, but not as we are normally aware of it. We do not go storming through life like actors in a play. Art is never real life.

God is gracious to some very peculiar people.