 Let the gentle bush dig its root deep and spread upward to split the boulder. |
| I have always felt that a woman has the right to treat the subject of her age with ambiguity until, perhaps, she passes into the realm of over ninety. Then it is better she be candid with herself and with the world. |
| Poetry is the opening and closing of a door, leaving those who look through to guess about what is seen during the moment. |
| Calling it off comes easy enough if you haven't told the girl you are smitten with her. |
| A book is never a masterpiece: it becomes one. Genius is the talent of a dead man. |
| I have often wondered what it is an old building can do to you when you happen to know a little about things that went on long ago in that building. |
| We read Robert Browning's poetry. Here we needed no guidance from the professor: the poems themselves were enough. |
| 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 on the future. |
| I learned you can't trust the judgment of good friends. |
| Anger is the most impotent of passions. It effects nothing it goes about, and hurts the one who is possessed by it more than the one against whom it is directed. Topics: Anger |
| Ordering a man to write a poem is like commanding a pregnant woman to give birth to a red-headed child. |
| I knew I would read all kinds of books and try to get at what it is that makes good writers good. But I made no promises that I would write books a lot of people would like to read. |
| Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits. |
| There are 10 men in me and I do not know or understand one of them. |
| I'm an idealist. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm on my way. |
| We had two grand antique professors who had been teaching at Lombard since before I was born. |
| Slang is a language that rolls up its sleeves, spits on its hands and goes to work. |
| Shame is the feeling you have when you agree with the woman who loves you that you are the man she thinks you are. |
| Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away. |
| I fell in love, not deep, but I fell several times and then fell out. |
