The sun shall shine in ages yet to be, The musing moon illumine pastures dim, And afterwards a new nativity For all who slept the dreamless interim.

Lo and behold! God made this starry wold, The maggot and the mold; lo and behold! He taught the grass contentment blade by blade, The sanctity of sameness in a shade.

You cannot choose your battlefield, The Gods do that for you; But you can plant a standard Where a standard never flew.

Across the downs a hummingbird Came dipping through the bowers, He pivoted on emptiness To scrutinize the flowers.

In the darkness, who would answer for the color of a rose, Or the vestments of the May moth and the pilgrimage it goes?

Once a pallid Vestal Doubted truth in blue; Listed red in ruin, Harried every hue; Barricaded vision, Garbed herself in sighs; Ridiculed the birthmarks Of the butterflies.

The rose has told In one simplicity That never life Relinquishes a bloom But to bestow An ancient confidence.

Let go the lure The striving to unmake; Behold the truth Whenever heart may ache There is a glory In a great mistake.

There is a glory in a great mistake.

The starry brocade of the summer night Is linked to us as part of our estate; And every bee that wings its sidelong flight Assurance of a sweeter, fairer fate.

Oh I'm in love with the janitor's boy, And the janitor's boy loves me; He's going to hunt for a desert isle In our geography.

Eternity is the stopped heart of Time.

A world in which people with learning difficulties have access to the resources they need to live happier, healthier, more secure and more meaningful lives.

Analysis kills spontaneity. The grain once ground into flour springs and germinates no more.

I'm quite sarcastic, and I'm funny, but not kind of funny. It's a weird funny, and some people don't get me, and some people do.

For the writer, discovering the work he will write is both like a miracle and a wound, like the miracle of the wound.

Come ye thankful people, come, Raise the song of Harvest-home!

Always be yourself, unless you can be a unicorn. Then, always be a unicorn.

It's one thing in this business to actually work. 5 percent of the Screen Actors' Guild works. It's another thing to do work that's satisfying and that people are loving.

Great critics, of whom there are piteously few, build a home for the truth.

Go, then! Go to the moon-you selfish dreamer!