I Cried Over Beautiful Things, Knowing No

Poetry Is A Mystic, Sensuous Mathematics Of Fire, Smoke-stacks, Waffles, Pansies, People, And Purple Sunsets.

You Remember Some Bedrooms You Have Slept In. There Are Bedrooms You Like To Remember And Others You Would Like To Forget.

To Be A Good Loser Is To Learn How To Win.

I Stayed Away From Mathematics Not So Much Because I Knew It Would Be Hard Work As Because Of The Amount Of Time I Knew It Would Take, Hours Spent In A Field Where I Was Not A Natural.

The Past Is A Bucket Of Ashes