“At midnight the wind in the trees can sound like the ocean. The moonlight can make a road appear as endless as the sea.”

“The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor,And the highwayman came riding--Riding--riding--The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.”

“Does sound have rhythm? Does it rise and fall like the ocean? Does sound come and go like wind?”

“One day many years ago a man walked along and stood in the sound of the ocean on a cold sunless shore and said, "We need a voice to call across the water, to warn ships; I'll make one. I'll make a voice like all of time and all of the fog that ever was; I'll make a voice that is like an empty bed beside you all night long, and like an empty house when you open the door, and like trees in autumn with no leaves. A sound like the birds flying south, crying, and a sound like November wind and the sea on the hard, cold shore. I'll make a sound that's so alone that no one can miss it, that whoever hears it will weep in their souls, and hearths will seem warmer, and being inside will seem better to all who hear it in the distant towns. I'll make me a sound and an apparatus and they'll call it a Fog Horn and whoever hears it will know the sadness of eternity and the briefness of life."The Fog Horn blew.”

“Why did they make birds so delicate and fine as those sea swallows when the ocean can be so cruel?”

“Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree; And only God who makes the tree Also makes the fools like me. But only fools like me, you see, Can make a God, who makes a tree.”