Most people read poetry listening for echoes because the echoes are familiar to them. They wade through it the way a boy wades through water, feeling with his toes for the bottom: The echoes are the bottom.
In poetry, you must love the words, the ideas and the images and rhythms with all your capacity to love anything at all.
I do not know which to prefer, The beauty of inflections, Or the beauty of innuendoes, The blackbird whistling, Or just after.
How full of trifles everything is! It is only one's thoughts that fill a room with something more than furniture.
Intolerance respecting other people's religion is toleration itself in comparison with intolerance respecting other people's art.
The day of the sun is like the day of a king. It is a promenade in the morning, a sitting on the throne at noon, a pageant in the evening.
