The arts generally have had to recognize Modernism - how should poetry escape?

Till now poets were privileged to insert a certain proportion of nonsense - very far in excess of one-half of one per cent - into their otherwise sober documents.

When critics are waiting to pounce upon poetic style on exactly the same grounds as if it were prose, the poets tremble.

And yet what is Modernism? It is undefined.

But we moderns are impatient and destructive.

God have mercy on the sinner Who must write with no dinner, No gravy and no grub, No pewter and no pub, No bellyand no bowels, Only consonants and vowels.

In all the good Greek of Plato I lack my roastbeef and potato. A better man was Aristotle, Pulling steady on the bottle.

He can develop sense and style, in the manner of distinguished modern prose, in which event he may be sure that the result will not fall into any objective form.

Too much is demanded by the critic, attempted by the poet.

It is a miracle of harmony, of the adaptation of the free inner life to the outward necessity of things.

For no art and no religion is possible until we make allowances, until we manage to keep quiet the enfant terrible of logic that plays havoc with the other faculties.

My dream is to keep dreaming!

...and they all lived as happily as they allowed themselves to be.

The truth is, I think we are a self-less society, not a selfish society. Because we're so busy now.

It's not clear in the U.S. at the moment, either. We're going through another election.

Money for me has only one sound: liberty.

They used to pour millet on graves or poppy seeds To feed the dead who would come disguised as birds. I put this book here for you, who once lived So that you should visit us no more.

Since the 18th century, many Western intellectuals have predicted religion's imminent demise.

NASA has to approve whatever we wear, so there are clothes to choose from, like space shorts - we wear those a lot - and NASA T-shirts.

My alone feels so good, I'll only have you if you're sweeter than my solitude.

Not to be provok'd is best: But if mov'd, never correct till the fume is spent; for every stroke our fury strikes, is sure to hit our selves at last.