A professor is one who talks in someone else's sleep

There are good books which are only for adults.
There are no good books which are only for children.

Thoughts on his own death, like the distant roll of thunder at a picnic.

Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.

Even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot Where the dogs go on with their doggy life

I sit in one of the dives On Fifty-Second Street Uncertain and afraid As the clever hopes expire Of a low dishonest decade: Waves of anger and fear Circulate over the bright And darkened lands of the earth, Obsessing our private lives; The unmentiona