At the sight of blackbirds Flying in a green light, Even the bawds of euphony Would cry out sharply.
It was evening all afternoon. It was snowing And it was going to snow. The blackbird sat In the cedar-limbs.
The river is moving. The blackbird must be flying.
The most beautiful thing in the world is, of course, the world itself.
Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.
The imagination is one of the forces of nature.
True villains are extremely photogenic.
The day of the sun is like the day of a king. It is a promenade in the morning, a sitting on the throne at noon, a pageant in the evening.
All the great things have been denied and we live in an intricacy of new and local mythologies, political, economic, poetic, which are asserted with an ever-enlarging incoherence.
The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
Last Update: 28 September 2022
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