Poetry Is A Phantom Script Telling How

There Is An Eagle In Me That Wants To Soar, And There Is A Hippopotamus In Me That Wants To Wallow In The Mud.

Poetry Is A Series Of Explanations Of Life, Fading Off Into Horizons Too Swift For Explanations.

Never Will A Time Come When The Most Marvelous Recent Invention Is As Marvelous As A Newborn Child.

It Is Necessary Now And Then For A Man To Go Away By Himself And Experience Loneliness; To Sit On A Rock In The Forest And To Ask Of Himself, 'who Am I, And Where Have I Been, And Where Am I Going?'...if One Is Not Careful, One Allows Diversions To Take Up One's Time-the Stuff Of Life

Freedom Is Baffling: Men Having It Often Know Not They Have It Till It Is Gone And They No Longer Have It.