The poet's function is to make his imagination . . . become the light in the mind of others. His role, in short, is to help people to live their lives.

Compare the silent rose of the sun And rain, the blood-rose living in its smell, With this paper, this dust. That states the point.

God is in me or else is not at all.

Perhaps it is of more value to infuriate philosophers than to go along with them.

Most modern reproducers of life, even including the camera, really repudiate it. We gulp down evil, choke at good.

A pear should come to the table popped with juice, Ripened in warmth and served in warmth. On terms Like these, autumn beguiles the fatalist.

Intolerance respecting other people's religion is toleration itself in comparison with intolerance respecting other people's art.