Since we are what we are, what shall we be But what we are? We are, we have Six feet and seventy years, to see The light, and then resign it for the grave.

Great poetry is always written by somebody straining to go beyond what he can do.

There is a certain justice in criticism. The critic is like a midwife — a tyrannical midwife.

I'm struggling at the end to get out of the valley of hectoring youth, journalistic middle age, imposture, moneymaking, public relations, bad writing, mental confusion.

I say, stamping the words with emphasis, Drink from here energy and only energy

Eye, gazelle, delicate wanderer, Drinker of horizon’s fluid line; Ear that suspends on a chord The spirit drinking timelessness; Touch, love, all senses...

No one Shall hunger: Man shall spend equally. Our goal which we compel: Man shall be man.