The consolations of space are nameless things. It was after the neurosis of winter. It was In the genius of summer that they blew up The statue of Jove among the boomy clouds. It took all day to quieten the sky And then to refill its emptiness again.

The day of the sun is like the day of a king. It is a promenade in the morning, a sitting on the throne at noon, a pageant in the evening.

True villains are extremely photogenic.

It is never the thing but the version of the thing.

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

The poet makes silk dresses out of worms.

The only emperor is the emperor of ice cream.