When I am alone I am happy.

There is no comment on pictures but pictures, on music but music, on poems but poetry. If you do, you do. If you don't, you don't. And that's all there is to that.

What power has love but forgiveness? In other words by its intervention what has been done can be undone. What good is it otherwise?

Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire that closes round me this year.

In summer, the song sings itself.

No ideas but in things.

Remorse is a virtue in that it is a stirrer up of the emotions but it is a folly to accept it is a criticism of conduct.