We say God and the imagination are one . . .How high that highest candle lights the dark.

The exceeding brightness of this early sunMakes me conceive how dark I have become.

After the leaves have fallen, we returnTo a plain sense of things. It is as ifWe had come to an end of the imagination, Inanimate in an inert savoir.

A pear should come to the table popped with juice, Ripened in warmth and served in warmth. On termsLike these, autumn beguiles the fatalist.

From oriole to crow, note the declineIn music. Crow is realist. But, then, Oriole, also, may be realist.

Poetry is a finikin thing of airThat lives uncertainly and not for longYet radiantly beyond much lustier blurs.

You don't have to worry. God will care for you.

Darkness is the womb from which a poet is born.

Jesus Christ. This is what sin feels like, " he rasped. "Wrong and right, at the same time. Life and death. Blond, long-legged, and tight.

Great is the guilt of an unnecessary war.

You don't know a thing about me

If you ask any couple who have been married 50 years or longer, they will tell you they've experienced it all. The same is true of the Beach Boys.

I feel that my dreamscapes are part of my everyday life, and sometimes I can't tell the difference.

He bore no grudge against those he had wronged.

It's a weird scene. You win a few baseball games and all of a sudden you're surrounded by reporters and TV men with cameras asking you about Vietnam and race relations.

The only way you can better John is by copying him exactly.