He knows much of what men paint themselves would blister in the light of what they are.

Where’s the need of singing now?

I don’t say what God is, but a name That somehow answers us when we are driven To feel and think how little we have to do With what we are.

This morning I deleted the hyphen from “hell-bound” and made it one word; this afternoon I redivided it and restored the hyphen.

No matter what we are, and what we sing, Time finds a withered leaf in every laurel.

The world is a kind of spiritual kindergarten where millions of bewildered infants are trying to spell “God” with the wrong blocks.

Life is the game that must be played.

Two kinds of gratitude: The sudden kind we feel for what we take; the larger kind we feel for what we give.

And thus we all are nighing The truth we fear to know: Death will end our crying For friends that come and go.

Your Dollar is your only Word, / The wrath of it your only fear. / You build it altars tall enough / To make you see, but your are blind; / You cannot leave it long enough / To look before you or behind.