All slang is metaphor, and all metaphor is poetry.

The one stream of poetry which is continually flowing is slang.

The fatal metaphor of progress, which means leaving things behind us, has utterly obscured the real idea of growth, which means leaving things inside us.

Even the moon is only poetical because there is a man in the moon.

Every word was a singing sparrow, a magic trick, a truffle for me. The words made me laugh in delight.

Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.