Memory is the diary we all carry about with us.

Behind every exquisite thing that existed$$$ there was something tragic.

I am too fond of reading books to care to write them.

Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight$$$ and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.

Black-and-white Holsteins<br>Crowd downfield at feeding time$$$<br>Mingling their blotches.<br>It is like ice breaking up<br>In a dark$$$ swollen river.

I am enamour'd of growing out-doors$$$ <br>Of men that live among cattle or taste of the ocean or woods...

Remember my words$$$ I may again return$$$<br>I love you$$$ I depart from materials$$$<br>I am as one disembodied$$$ triumphant$$$ dead.

What will be will be well for what is is well$$$<br>To take interest is well$$$ and not to take interest is well.

The poet is individual$$$ he is complete in himself: the others are as good as he; only he sees it$$$ and they do not.

I swear I begin to see the meaning of these things. It is not the earth$$$ it is not America$$$ who is so great$$$ it is I who am great or to be great