I have sometimes thought that the laws ought not to punish those actions of evil which are committed when the senses are steeped in intoxication.

The process of reading is not a half sleep, but in the highest sense, an exercise, a gymnast's struggle: that the reader is to do something for him or herself, must be on the alert, just construct indeed the poem, argument, history, metaphysical essay--the text furnishing the hints, the clue, the start, the framework.

I see behind each mask that wonder a kindred soul.

I dance with the dancers.

I do not think seventy years is the time of a man or woman, Nor that seventy millions of years is the time of a man or woman, Nor that years will ever stop the existence of me, or any one else.

Be not ashamed women, ... You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul.

I henceforth tread the world, chaste, temperate, an early riser, a steady grower.