Another Little Drink Wouldn't Do Us Any

Our Hearts Seemed Safe In Our Breasts And Sang To The Light The Marrow In The Bone We Dreamed Was Safe. . . The Blood In The Veins, The Sap In The Tree Were Springs Of Deity.

I Am One Of Those Unhappy Persons Who Inspire Bores To The Greatest Flights Of Art.

It Is As Unseeing To Ask What Is The Use Of Poetry As It Would Be To Ask What Is The Use Of Religion.

Winter Is The Time For Comfort, For Good Food And Warmth, For The Touch Of A Friendly Hand And For A Talk Beside The Fire: It Is The Time For Home. It Is No Season In Which To Wander The World As If One Were The Wind Blowing Aimlessly Along The Streets Without A Place To Rest, Without Food, And Without Time Meaning Anything To One, Just As Time Means Nothing To The Wind.

I'm Afraid I'm Being An Awful Nuisance.