There is nothing beginning nor end to the imagination but it delights in its own seasons reversing the usual order at will.

Your thighs are appletrees whose blossoms touch the sky. Your knees are a southern breeze.

By listening to his language of his locality the poet begins to learn his craft. It is his function to lift, by use of imagination and the language he hears, the material conditions and appearances of his environment to the sphere of the intelligence where they will have new currency.

It is almost impossible to state what one in fact believes, because it is almost impossible to hold a belief and to define it at the same time.

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.

When I am alone I am happy.

Man has survived hitherto because he was too ignorant to know how to realise his wishes- Now that he can realise them, he must either change them or perish