"Hope and Memory have one daughter and her name is Art, and she has built her dwelling far from the desperate field where men hang out their garments upon forked boughs to be banners of battle. O beloved daughter of Hope and Memory, be with me for a while."
"Nor dread nor hope attendA dying animal;A man awaits his endDreading and hoping all."
"Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry."
"I have spread my dreams under your feet.Tread softly because you tread on my dreams."
"What can be explained is not poetry."
"Hope and Memory have one daughter and her name is Art, and she has built her dwelling far from the desperate field where men hang out their garments upon forked boughs to be banners of battle. O beloved daughter of Hope and Memory, be with me for a while."