Poetry increases the feeling for reality.

How red the rose that is the soldier

Out of this same light, out of the central mind, We make a dwelling in the evening air, In which being there together is enough.

To a large extent, the problems of poets are the problems of painters, and poets must often turn to the literature of painting for a discussion of their own problems.

The final belief is to believe in a fiction, which you know to be a fiction, there being nothing else. The exquisite truth is to know that it is a fiction and that you believe in it willingly.

All poetry is experimental poetry.

I was myself the compass of that sea: I was the world in which I walked, and what I saw Or heard or felt came not but from myself; And there I found myself more truly and more strange.