Everything That Is Exact Is Short.

Professional Critics Are Incapable Of Distinguishing And Appreciating Either Diamonds In The Rough Or Gold In Bars. They Are Traders, And In Literature Know Only The Coins That Are Current. Their Critical Lab Has Scales And Weights, But Neither Crucible Or Touchstone.

Words Become Luminous When The Poet's Finger Has Passed Over Them Its Phosphorescence.

We Always Believe God Is Like Ourselves, The Indulgent Think Him Indulgent And The Stern, Terrible.

God Is The Place Where I Do Not Remember The Rest.

Common Sense Suits Itself To The Ways Of The World. Wisdom Tries To Confirm To The Ways Of Heaven.