To Be Social Is To Be Forgiving.

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

I Never Dared To Be Radical When Young For Fear It Would Make Me Conservative When Old.

My Sorrow, When She's Here With Me, Thinks These Dark Days Of Autumn Rain Are Beautiful As Days Can Be; She Loves The Bare, The Withered Tree; She Walks The Sodden Pasture Lane.

Nature's First Green Is Gold, Her Hardest Hue To Hold. Her Early Leaf's A Flower; But Only So An Hour. Then Leaf Subsides To Leaf. So Eden Sank To Grief, So Dawn Goes Down To Day. Nothing Gold Can Stay.

Earth's The Right Place For Love. I Don't Know Where It's Likely To Go Better.