People ought to like poetry the way a child likes snow & they would if poets wrote it.

It must be this rhapsody or none, The rhapsody of things as they are.

Imagination is the will of things. . . .

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

Make the visible a little hard to see.

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.

The day of the sun is like the day of a king. It is a promenade in the morning, a sitting on the throne at noon, a pageant in the evening.