To name an object is to deprive a poem of three-fourths of its pleasure, which consists in a little-by-little guessing game; the ideal is to suggest.

The philosopher proves that the philosopher exists. The poet merely enjoys existence.

One's ignorance is one's chief asset.

So, too, if, to our surprise, we should meet one of these morons whose remarks are so conspicuous a part of the folklore of the world of the radio--remarks made without using either the tongue or the brain, spouted much like the spoutings of small whales--we should recognize him as below the level of nature but not as below the level of the imagination.

A poet's words are of things that do not exist without the words.

We live in an old chaos of the sun.

A violent order is disorder; and a great disorder is an order. These two things are one.