I am the angel of Reality, Seen for a moment standing in the door.
God and the imagination are one.
Poetry is a satifying of the desire for resemblance.
Most people read poetry listening for echoes because the echoes are familiar to them. They wade through it the way a boy wades through water, feeling with his toes for the bottom: The echoes are the bottom.
The mind can never be satisfied.
The summer night is like a perfection of thought.