Poetry, even when apparently most fantastic, is always a revolt against artifice, a revolt, in a sense, against actuality.
You forget that the kingdom of heaven suffers violence: and the kingdom of heaven is like a woman.
Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world a mother's love is not.
God spoke to you by so many voices but you would not hear.
A man of genius makes no mistakes; his errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.
Mistakes are the portals of discovery.
