That which is possible is inevitable.

A poem is a small machine made of words.

I think all writing is a disease. You can't stop it.

I think these days when there is so little to believe in——when the old loyalties——God, country, and the hope of Heaven——aren't very real, we are more dependent than we should be on our friends. The only thing left to believe in——someone who seems beautiful.

There is no thing that with a twist of the imagination cannot be something else. Porpoises risen in a green sea, the wind at nightfall bending the rose- red grasses and you- in your apron hurrying to catch- say it seems to you to be your son. How ridiculous! You will pass up into a cloud and look back at me, not count the scribbling foolish that put wings at your heels, at your knees.

It is difficult to get the news from poems, yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is found there.

A poem is a small machine made of words. . .Its movement is intrinsic, undulant, a physical more than a literary character.