The hungry judges soon the sentence sign, and wretches hang that jurymen may dine.

Look at situations from all angles, and you will become more open.

It is written on the arched sky; it looks out from every star. It is the poetry of Nature; it is that which uplifts the spirit within us.

O‘ What may man within him hide, though angel on the outward side!

We are time’s subjects, and time bids be gone.

Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.

Prejudices are what fools use for reason.

Yet, it is true, poetry is delicious; the best prose is that which is most full of poetry.

It’s no wonder that truth is stranger than fiction. Fiction has to make sense.

The main problem with writing in verse is, if your fourth line doesn’t come out right, you’ve got to throw four lines away and figure out a whole new way to attack the problem. So the mortality rate is terrific.

There’s no doubt that inequality destabilizes societies. I think the social science evidence on that front is crystal clear.

The greatest thing a human soul ever does in this world… to see clearly is poetry, prophecy and religion all in one.

I’ve analyzed the best I can… and I have not found an impeachable offense, and therefore resignation is not an acceptable course.

Realists do not fear the results of their study.

And poets, in my view, and I think the view of most people, do speak God’s language – it’s better, it’s finer, it’s language on a higher plane than ordinary people speak in their daily lives.

There’s a tremendous gap between public opinion and public policy.

It is always good men who do the most harm in the world.

They would not find me changed from him they knew – only more sure of all I thought was true.

Humor has justly been regarded as the finest perfection of poetic genius.

The bookful blockhead, ignorantly read, With loads of learned lumber in his head.

At ev’ry word a reputation dies.

Truth is weirder than any fiction I’ve seen.

I’m not concerned about all hell breaking loose, but that a PART of hell will break loose… it’ll be much harder to detect.

Ultimately, a real understanding of history means that we face nothing new under the sun.

It’s not a coincidence that in the Scriptures, poverty is mentioned more than 2,100 times. It’s not an accident. That’s a lot of air time, 2,100 mentions.

It’s not simply to say, ‚My colleagues are wrong, and I would do it this way,‘ but the greatest dissents do become court opinions.

There are certain pursuits which, if not wholly poetic and true, do at least suggest a nobler and finer relation to nature than we know. The keeping of bees, for instance.

I sleep people. I put people unconscious. I’m stating facts.

Science arose from poetry… when times change the two can meet again on a higher level as friends.

I read poetry to save time.

You hesitate to stab me with a word, and know not – silence is the sharper sword.

I’ve always written. There’s a journal which I kept from about 9 years old. The man who gave it to me lived across the street from the store and kept it when my grandmother’s papers were destroyed. I’d written some essays. I loved poetry, still do. But I really, really loved it then.

I decided that it was not wisdom that enabled poets to write their poetry, but a kind of instinct or inspiration, such as you find in seers and prophets who deliver all their sublime messages without knowing in the least what they mean.

History is only the register of crimes and misfortunes.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary.

The false is nothing but an imitation of the true.

The U.S. increasingly has taken on the characteristics of what we describe as ‚failed states.‘

And were an epitaph to be my story I’d have a short one ready for my own. I would have written of me on my stone: I had a lover’s quarrel with the world.

As the poet said, ‚Only God can make a tree,‘ probably because it’s so hard to figure out how to get the bark on.

Writing free verse is like playing tennis with the net down.

There is no just and serene criticism as yet.

The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.

There’s no art to find the mind’s construction in the face.

For awhile after you quit Keats all other poetry seems to be only whistling or humming.

When the sword is once drawn, the passions of men observe no bounds of moderation.

I read the book of Job last night, I don’t think God comes out well in it.

I am in the world feeling my way to light ‚amid the encircling gloom.‘

The U.S. is off the spectrum in religious commitment.

Blood alone moves the wheels of history.

Men seldom, or rather never for a length of time and deliberately, rebel against anything that does not deserve rebelling against.

In the television age, the key distinction is between the candidate who can speak poetry and the one who can only speak prose.

I’m happy to be a writer – of prose, poetry, every kind of writing. Every person in the world who isn’t a recluse, hermit or mute uses words. I know of no other art form that we always use.

Sure, women sportswriters look when they’re in the clubhouse. Read their stories. How else do you explain a capital letter in the middle of a word?

I am not a televangelist.

I learn poetry, learn text, and that really keeps you alive.

Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.

It amazes me sometimes that even intelligent people will analyze a situation or make a judgement after only recognizing the standard or traditional structure of a piece.

Thinking fragments reality – it cuts it up into conceptual bits and pieces.

To insure the adoration of a theorem for any length of time, faith is not enough, a police force is needed as well.

Russia is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.

Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.