... imaginary gardens with real toads in them ... ... if you demand on one hand, the raw material of poetry in all its rawness and that which is on the other hand genuine, then you are interested in poetry.
My father used to say superior people never make long visits.
Poetry is the art of creating imaginary gardens with real toads.
Impatience is the mark of independence, not of bondage.
It is quite cruel that a poet cannot wander through his regions of enchantment without having a critic, forever, like the old man of the sea, upon his back.
As contagion of sickness makes sickness, contagion of trust can make trust.