Half the world is composed of people who have something to say and can't, and the other half who have nothing to say and keep on saying it.

The beauty of enmity is insecurity; the beauty of friendship is in security.

Here in New England, the character is strong and unshakable.

The figure a poem makes. It begins in delight and ends in wisdom... in a clarification of life - not necessarily a great clarification, such as sects and cults are founded on, but in a momentary stay against confusion.

England is a paradise for women, and hell for horses: Italy is a paradise for horses, hell for women.

Oh, to be in England, Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf, Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England--now.