It is not what you say that matters but the manner in which you say it; there lies the secret of the ages.

Death will be too late to bring us aid.

It's a strange courage you give me ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!

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.

The only realism in art is of the imagination.

O frost bitten blossoms, That are unfolding your wings From out the envious black branches. Bloom quickly and make much of the sunshine. The twigs conspire against you! Hear hem! They hold you from behind.

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