“The fairy poet takes a sheetOf moonbeam, silver white;His ink is dew from daisies sweet,His pen a point of light.”

“I think that I shall never seeA poem lovely as a tree.A tree whose hungry mouth is pressedAgainst the earth's sweet flowing breast;A tree that looks at God all dayAnd lifts her leafy arms to pray;A tree that may in summer wearA nest of robins in her hair;Upon whose bosom snow has lain;Who intimately lives with rain.Poems are made by fools like me,But only God can make a tree.”

“The only reason a road is good as every wanderer knowsIs just because of the homes, the homes, the homes to which one goes”

“I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. ”

“No pen, no ink, no table, no room, no time, no quiet, no inclination”

“I take a step toward him. My arm reaches up. I don't know if I'm reaching for the pipe or for him. I want to touch his skin. I want to breathe in what he breathes. The yellow swirl. I want to be the yellow swirl. I want him to breathe me in, be sent riding on oxygen molecules deep into his lungs. I want to travel through his body, seeing what makes him happy. Attaching myself to whatever place in him sparks to life on my arrival. His blood, his tissues, his muscles, I want to burrow inside the folds like a windblown dusting of snow, so that each time I melt away he seeks me out again.”

“I LOVE HORSES!' shrieked the Tooth Fairy over his shoulder.”