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

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.

The imperfect is our paradise.

Yet there is no spring in Florida, neither in boskage perdu, nor on the nunnery beaches.

Anything is beautiful if you say it is.

Death is the mother of beauty. Only the perishable can be beautiful, which is why we are unmoved by artificial flowers.

How red the rose that is the soldier