The fairy poet takes a sheet Of moonbeam, silver white; His ink is dew from daisies sweet, His pen a point of light.

I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree.

The air is like a butterfly With frail blue wings. The happy earth looks at the sky And sings.

Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree

The only reason a road is good as every wanderer knows / Is just because of the homes, the homes, the homes to which one goes

I suppose I passed it a hundred times, But I always stop for a minute. And look at the house, the tragic house, The house with nobody in it.

There is no place in which to hide when Age comes seeking for his bride.

There is no peace to be taken With poets who are young, For they worry about the wars to be fought and the songs that must be sung.

For nothing keeps a poet In his high singing mood Like unappeasable hunger For unattainable food.

Things have a terrible permanence when people die.

I think that I shall never scan A tree as lovely as a man. . . . . A tree depicts divinest plan, But God himself lives in a man.

We are the universe.

It’s better, really, to go out in a blaze. That’s why we love Marilyn, and James Dean. We love the ones who walk right into the fire.

Maybe he's been in Africa so long he has forgotten that we Christians have our own system of marriage, and it is called Monotony.

If compassion and mercy are not compatible with politics then something is the matter with politics.

I have a good time watching Nick At Night with the old shows on there. I love to see I Love Lucy, although I've seen them many, many times. I think it's a security factor, it's like your blanket.

It's so weird that I play this woman who pretty much deals with violence on a daily basis, and I'm such a wimp in who I am.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the naughtiest of them all?

Those yesterdreams were just a cruel and foolish game we used to play, yester-me, yester-you, yesterday.

It is necessary for the perfection of human society that there should be men who devote their lives to contemplation.

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