At breakfast!' said Louise in an awed voice. 'A man who can read poetry at breakfast would be capable of anything.

My candle burns at both ends;It will not last the night;But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—It gives a lovely light!

If I can see pain in your eyes then share with me your tears. If I can see joy in your eyes then share with me your smile.

There is nothing at all that can be talked about adequately, and the whole art of poetry is to say what can't be said.

The term "venting" denote sort of a forced nature. If that's the context I never vent. I never "tell" anyone anything.

There is freedom waiting for you,On the breezes of the sky,And you ask "What if I fall?"Oh but my darling,What if you fly?

Listen. Outside this frame I can see light,heavy as pardon, reliable as granite.Help me. Help me drag it into the picture.

Poetry seems especially like nothing else so much as itself. Poetry is not like, it is the very lining of the inner life.

Up, lad: thews that lie and cumberSunlit pallets never thrive;Morns abed and daylight slumberWere not meant for man alive.

أنا ما أحلم بهأناأنت

I am always trying to 'preserve' things by getting other people to read what I have written, and feel what I felt.

i can’t always tell what’s betterlong drivesin the star-spangled desertsor long walksalong winding tea gardens.

Poetry, plays, novels, music, they are the cry of the human spirit trying to understand itself and make sense of our world.

With love, it’s better to act now and think later. Write your love poem after you’ve made love, and not before.

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,Old Time is still a-flying;And this same flower that smiles today,Tomorrow will be dying.