Through the small tall bathroom window the December yard is gray and scratchy, the tree calligraphic.
These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume
The Eyes are the window to your soul
What a terrible era in which idiots govern the blind.
There are three people in yourself - who people think you are, who you think you are, and who you really are.
New friends may be poems but old friends are alphabets. Don't forget the alphabets because you will need them to read the poems.
If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?
It is not money that makes you well dressed: it is understanding.
When he woke, daylight was coming through the glass floor, and a boy's voice said, "Oh. . . You are in so much trouble.
I imagine a soul is a little perfect crystal egg floating in your chest. Somewhere deeper than where they put your heart. Somewhere so deep inside that the doctors can't find it with all their machines and microcameras.
The majority of the men of the North, and of the South and East and West, are not men of principle. If they vote, they do not sendmen to Congress on errands of humanity; but while their brothers and sisters are being scourged and hung for loving liberty,. . . it is the mismanagement of wood and iron and stone and gold which concerns them.