For the listener, who listens in the snow, / And, nothing himself, beholds / Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Human nature is like water. It takes the shape of its container.

One must have a mind of winter to regard the frost and the boughs of the pine trees, crusted with snow, And have been cold a long time, to behold the junipers, shagged with ice, the spruces, rough in the distant glitter of the January sun, and not to think of any misery in the sound of the wind, in the sound of a few leaves, which is the sound of the land, full of the same wind, blowing in the same bare place for the listener, who listens in the snow, and, nothing herself, beholds nothing that is not there, and the nothing that is.

Why should she give her bounty to the dead? What is divinity if it can come Only in silent shadows and in dreams?

The reason can give nothing at all Like the response to desire.

New York is a field of tireless and antagonistic interests undoubtedly fascinating but horribly unreal. Everybody is looking at everybody else a foolish crowd walking on mirrors.

The way through the world is more difficult to find than the way beyond it.