If One By One We Counted People

The Best Way To Hate Is The Worst. 'tis To Find What The Hated Need, Never Mind Of What Actual Worth, And Wipe That Out Of The Earth. Let Them Die Of Unsatisfied Greed.

An Idea Is A Feat Of Association, And The Height Of It Is A Good Metaphor.

Nothing Gold Can Stay.

Our Life Runs Down In Sending Up The Clock. The Brook Runs Down In Sending Up Our Life. The Sun Runs Down In Sending Up The Brook. And There Is Something Sending Up The Sun.

I Could Define Poetry This Way: It Is That Which Is Lost Out Of Both Prose And Verse In Translation.