How red the rose that is the soldier

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.

Sentimentality is a failure of feeling.

I measure myself Against a tall tree I find that I am much taller, For I reach right up to the sun With my eye; And I reach to the shore of the sea With my ear. Nevertheless, I dislike The way the ants crawl In and out of my shadow.

Of the Surface of Things In my room, the world is beyond my understanding; But when I walk I see that it consists of three or four Hills and a cloud.

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

Intolerance respecting other people's religion is toleration itself in comparison with intolerance respecting other people's art.