Poets are being pursued by the philosophers today, out of the poverty of philosophy. God damn it, you might think a man had no business to be writing, to be a poet unless some philosophic stinker gave him permission.

For the beginning is assuredly the end- since we know nothing, pure and simple, beyond our own complexities.

It was the love of love, the love of swallows up all else, a grateful love, a love of natural, of people, of animals, a love ingengering gentleness and goodness that moved meand that I saw in you

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.

No opinion can be trusted; even the facts may be nothing but a printer's error.

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.