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.
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.
What our eyes behold may well be the text of life but one's meditations on the text and the disclosures of these meditations are no less a part of the structure of reality.
