For want of a Pilate of their own, some Christians would accept a Constantine or whomever might be the current incarnation of Caesar.

The form of a poem is invisible. A poem is not an "object." This is hard to accept in a mechanical age.

What leads to peace is not violence but peaceableness, which is not passivity, but an alert, informed, practiced, and active state of being.

There are, it seems, two muses: The Muse of Inspiration, who gives us inarticulate visions and desires, and the Muse of Realization, who returns again and again to say, 'It is yet more difficult than you thought.' It may be that when we no longer know what to do, we have come to our real work and when we no longer know which way to go, we have begun our real journey.

The sense of it may come with watching a flock of cedar waxwings eating wild grapes in the top of the woods on a November afternoon. Everything they do is leisurely. They pick the grapes with a curious deliberation, comb their feathers, converse in high windy whistles. Now and then one will fly out and back in a sort of dancing flight full of whimsical flutters and turns. They are like farmers loafing in their own fields on Sunday. Though they have no Sundays, their days are full of sabbaths.

Our land passes in and out of our bodies just as our bodies pass in and out of our land

The soil under the grass is dreaming of a young forest, and under the pavement the soil is dreaming of grass.