yes is a world & in this world of yes live (skilfully curled) all worlds

may my heart always be open to little birds who are the secrets of living

who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you

guilt is the cause of more marauders than history's most obscene disauders

And now you are and I am and we're a mystery which will never happen again.

The sweet small clumsy feet of april came into the ragged meadow of my soul.

When skies are hanged and oceans drowned, the single secret will still be man

Really unreal world, will you perhaps do the breathing for me while I am away?

Next to of course god America i / love you land of the pilgrims and so forth oh

I'm living so far beyond my income that we may almost be said to be living apart.

Love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear. . .

notice the convulsed orange inch of moon perching on this silver minute of evening

What time is it? It is by every star a different time, and each most falsely true.

may came home with a smooth round stone as small as a world and as large as alone.

All in green went my love of riding on a great horse of gold into the silver dawn.

Because you aren't afraid to kiss the dirt (and consequently dare to climb the sky)

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me), It's always our self we find in the sea.

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing than teach 10,000 stars how not to dance.

Trust your heart if the seas catch fire, live by love though the stars walk backward.

An intelligent person fights for lost causes, realizing that others are merely effects

may I be I is the only prayer--not may I be great or good or beautiful or wise or strong.

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility

Yours is the light by which my spirit's born: - you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.

Humanity I love you because when you're hard up you pawn your intelligence to buy a drink.

The Artist is no other than he who unlearns what he has learned, in order to know himself.

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.

Seeming's enough for slaves of space and time - ours is the now and here of freedom. Come.

Like the burlesque comedian, I am abnormally fond of that precision which creates movement.

Writingis an art; and artistsare human beings. As a human being stands, so a human being is

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you

The Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls are unbeautiful and have comfortable minds.

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.

In just - Spring when the world is mud- luscious the little lame balloonman whistles far and wee

If 180 million people want to be undead, that’s their funeral, but I happen to like being alive.

Here's to opening and upward... and to yourself and up with you and up with and up with laughing.

At least the Pilgrim Fathers used to shoot Indians: the Pilgrim Children merely punch time clocks.

And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart I carry your heart [ i carry it in my heart ]

that strictly(and how)scienti fic land of supernod where freedom is compulsory and only man is god.

time is a tree (this life one leaf) but love is the sky and i am for you just so long and long enough

Sweet springtime is my time is your time is our time for springtime is love time and viva sweet love.

I like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite new a thing. Muscles better and nerves more.

When god decided to invent everything he took one reath bigger than a circustent and everything began

To like an individual because he's black is just as insulting as to dislike him because he isn't white.

The first step to expanding your reality is to discard the tendency to exclude things from possibility.

Who knows if the moon's / a balloon, coming out of a keen city / in the sky - filled with pretty people?

The hardest challenge is to be yourself in a world where everyone is trying to make you be somebody else.

I will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air Alive with closed eyes to dash against darkness

The only man, woman, or child who wrote a simple declarative sentence with seven grammatical errors "is dead."

when man determined to destroy himself he picked the was of shall and finding only why smashed it into because.

If a poet is anybody, he is somebody to whom things made matter very little - somebody who is obsessed by Making.

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