...after a night spent writing poetry, one is almost happy to hear the milkman at the door.

I am one of you and being one of you is being and knowing what I am and know. Yet I am the necessary Angel of earth, since, in my sight, you see the earth again.

It is necessary to any originality to have the courage to be an amateur.

Divinity must live within herself: Passions of rain, or moods in the falling snow; Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued Elations when the forest blooms; gusty Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights; All pleasures and all pains, remembering The boughs of summer and the winter branch. These are the measures destined for her soul.

Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.

How red the rose that is the soldier

It is not everyday that the world arranges itself into a poem.