The Hands Are The Heart's

Everything I Have Written Is The Result Of Reading Or Of Interest In People.

[the] Whirlwind Fife-and-drum Of The Storm Bends The Salt Marsh Grass, Disturbs Stars In The Sky And The Star On The Steeple; It Is A Privilege To See So Much Confusion.

Sun And Moon And Day And Night And Man And Beast Each With A Splendor Which Man In All His Vileness Cannot Set Aside; Each With An Excellence!

Poetry Is The Art Of Creating Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads.

The Self Does Not Realize Itself Most Fully When Self-realization Is Its Most Constant Aim.