In the progress of personality, first comes a declaration of independence, then a recognition of interdependence.
The crest and crowning of all good, Life’s final star, is brotherhood.
I don’t know if younger poets read a lot of, you know, the poets – the established poets. There was a lot of pretty boring stuff to sort of put up with and to add to, to make something vital from.
Half of the secular unrest and dismal, profane sadness of modern society comes from the vain ideas that every man is bound to be a critic for life.
As long as habit and routine dictate the pattern of living, new dimensions of the soul will not emerge.
What you possess in the world will be found at the day of your death to belong to someone else. But what you are will be yours forever.
What we do belongs to what we are; and what we are is what becomes of us.
There’s one of my new poems actually – is a good example of where my poetry has ended up. My earlier river poetry was more like a cross between Shelley and Dylan Thomas.
For all your days be prepared, and meet them ever alike. When you are the anvil, bear – when you are the hammer, strike.
It is with rivers as it is with people: the greatest are not always the most agreeable nor the best to live with.