The poet's perfect expression is the token of a perfect experience; what he says in the best possible way he has felt in the best possible way, that is, completely.

When you defile the pleasant streams, And the wild bird's abiding place, You massacre a million dreams, And cast your spittle in God's face

For while the subjects of poetry are few and recurrent, the moods of man are infinitely various and unstable. It is the same in all arts.

Poetry being the sign of that which all men desire, even though the desire be unconscious, intensity of life or completeness of experience, the universality of its appeal is a matter of course.

If it is an imperfect word, no external circumstance can heighten its value as poetry.

Poetry is the communication through words of certain experiences that can be communicated in no other way.

To know anything of a poet but his poetry is, so far as the poetry is concerned, to know something that may be entertaining, even delightful, but is certainly inessential.

But in the finished art of the song the use of words has no connection with the use of words in poetry.

This be my pilgrimage and goal Daily to march and find The secret phrases of the soul, The evangels of the mind.

There can be no proof that Blake's lyric is composed of the best words in the best order; only a conviction, accepted by our knowledge and judgment, that it is so.

In the corridors under tehre is nothing but sleep. And stiller than ever on orchard boughs they keep Tryst with the moon, and deep is the silence, deep On moon-washed apples of wonder.

I want to thank you for the profound joy I've had in the in the thought of you.

The purpose of lifeis to give our life purpose.

The differences between friends cannot but reinforce their friendship.

My father said about money: 'You have to have some. But you don't have to have all of it. Just be honest with yourself.'

She was the kind of gal that if she set her sights on a man, he'd be running in the opposite direction real quick.

The talkative man speaks from his mouth, the eloquent man speaks from his heart.

The greatest explorer on this earth never takes voyages as long as those of the man who descends to the depth of his heart.

It a wretched thing to suffer at the hand of one of whom we cannot complain.

Bhakti and Humility cannot be separated like sweetness cannot be separated from sweet.

God is a wild man...should you encounter him...hang on for dear life-or let go for dear life is a better way to say it.