Imagination...is the irrepressible revolutionist.

What our eyes behold may well be the text of life but one's meditations on the text and the disclosures of these meditations are no less a part of the structure of reality.

Nothing could be more inappropriate to American literature than its English source since the Americans are not British in sensibility.

Metaphor creates a new reality from which the original appears to be unreal.

For the listener, who listens in the snow, / And, nothing himself, beholds / Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Life is the elimination of what is dead.

The imperfect is our paradise.