Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
Two bubbles found they had rainbows on their curves. They flickered out saying: "It was worth being a bubble, just to have held that rainbow thirty seconds.
I stayed away from mathematics not so much because I knew it would be hard work as because of the amount of time I knew it would take, hours spent in a field where I was not a natural.
To work hard, to live hard, to die hard, and then go to hell after all would be too damn hard.
We read Robert Browning's poetry. Here we needed no guidance from the professor: the poems themselves were enough.
Nearly all the best things that came to me in life have been unexpected, unplanned by me.
I'm either going to be a writer or a bum.
Time is a sandpile we run our fingers in.
When I was writing pretty poor poetry, this girl with midnight black hair told me to go on.
Stormy husky brawling City of the Big Shoulders.
Someday they'll give a war and nobody will come.
Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land wanting to fly in the air.
Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.Shovel them under and let me work-- I am the grass; I cover all.And pile them high at GettysburgAnd pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.Shovel them under...
To be a good loser is to learn how to win.
1 tell you the past is a bucket of ashes.
I learned you can't trust the judgment of good friends.
Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you.
I tell you the past is a bucket of ashes, so live not in your yesterdays, no just for tomorrow, but in the here and now. Keep moving and forget the post mortems; and remember, no one can get the jump...
Hope is an echo hope ties itself yonder yonder.
Gather the stars if you wish it soGather the songs and keep them.Gather the faces of women.Gather for keeping years and years.And then...Loosen your hands, let go and say good-bye.Let the stars and so...