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

Unfortunately there is nothing more inane than an Easter carol. It is a religious perversion of the activity of Spring in our blood.

The reading of a poem should be an experience. Its writing must be all the more so.

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

It has to be living, to learn the speech of the place, It has to face the man of the time.

The yellow glistens. It glistens with various yellows, Citrons, oranges and greens Flowering over the skin.

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