Being a poet is not a job or a profession but a way of life.

I've read all the books but one Only remains sacred: this Volume of wonders, open Always before my eyes.

Meanings, moods, the whole scale of our inner experience, finds in nature the 'correspondences' through which we may know our boundless selves.

Intent on one great love, perfect, Requited and for ever, I missed love's everywhere Small presence, thousand-guised.

Chemistry dissolves the goddess in the alembic, Venus, the white queen, the universal matrix, Down to the molecular hexagons and carbon-chains.

... the poem reminds us of what we ourselves know, but did not know we knew; reminds us, above all, of what we are.

Of all the arts the living of a life is perhaps the greatest; to live every moment of life with the same imaginative commitment as the poet brings to a special field.

Nature is the common, universal language, understood by all.

I couldn't claim that I have never felt the urge to explore evil, but when you descend into hell you have to be very careful.

The work of the artist is to heal the soul.

And see the peaceful trees extend their myriad leaves in leisured dance- they bear the weight of sky and cloud upon the fountain of their veins.

You will need to invest every bit of your time into your destiny and purpose if you truly desire to be great.

Nature is nature.

How can you put human rights to a popular vote and call it democracy? How many times do you need to redefine or haggle about the meaning of the word EQUALITY?

Silence never yet betrayed any one!

The most assiduous task of parenting is to divine the difference between boundaries and bondage.

To pretend to trust Christ to save you from sin while you are still determined to continue in it is making a mockery of Christ.

When you watch Canadian kids [Box Lacrosse Players] score, when you see their skill level around the cage, you wonder to yourself, 'Jeez, are we teaching kids [in the U.S.] the wrong things?

Unfortunately, the only recognized relics of yesterday's farmers are obsolete curiosities when the greatest relic, their philosophy of living, is seldom considered.

Blanche, prosaic in a pale yellow sweater and blue jeans, was wondering again if anything mattered—-life, faith--specifically, finishing homework assignments.

Maybe it's just hart to see what's right in front of you while you're frantically searching for it.