Poetry Is A Diary Kept By A

So I Turn Once More To Those Who Sneer At This My City, And I Give Them Back The Sneer And Say To Them: Come And Show Me Another City With Lifted Head Singing So Proud To Be Alive And Coarse And Strong And Cunning.

There Is A Music For Lonely Hearts Nearly Always. If The Music Dies Down There Is A Silence. Almost The Same As The Movement Of Music. To Know Silence Perfectly Is To Know Music.

When I Was Writing Pretty Poor Poetry, This Girl With Midnight Black Hair Told Me To Go On.

I Was Up Day And Night With Lincoln For Years. I Couldn't Have Picked A Better Companion.

Anger Is The Most Impotent Of Passions. It Effects Nothing It Goes About, And Hurts The One Who Is Possessed By It More Than The One Against Whom It Is Directed.