“The Poet is a kinsman in the cloudsWho scoffs at archers, loves a stormy day;But on the ground, among the hooting crowds,He cannot walk, his wings are in the way.”
“Was this the bright vastness the poet Bashō saw when he wrote of the Milky Way arched over a stormy sea?”
“Poet appointed dare not declineto walk among the bogus...”
“No hunter of the sky should end his days as prey. Better to die on the wing than pinned to the ground.”
“Sometimes there are stormy moments in your life when your friends do more than just walk with you; they become angels that carry you and protect you with their wings.”
“No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone. His significance, his appreciation is the appreciation of his relation to the dead poets and artists. You cannot value him alone; you must set him, for contrast and comparison, among the dead.”