Emotions and Feelings

All men by their nature give praise.

Then back to the party! and femaled you jealously as if to discover whence and there should escape, what?

are the desolate, dark weeks when nature in its barrenness equals the stupidity of man. The year plunges into night and the heart plunges lower than night.

I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold

I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold

The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them—

The pure products of America go crazy—

as if the earth under our feet were an excrement of some sky and we degraded prisoners destined to hunger until we eat filth

They enter the new world naked, cold, uncertain of all save that they enter.

Who shall say I am not the happy genius of my household?

Forgive us all our trespasses, Little creatures, everywhere!

I hear a sudden cry of pain! There is a rabbit in a snare.

So always look for the silver lining And try to find the sunny side of life.

It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home, A heap o’ sun an’ shadder, an’ ye sometimes have Afore ye really ’preciate the things ye lef’ behind, An’ hunger fer ’em somehow, with ’em allus on yer mind.

The palm at the end of the mind, Beyond the last thought, rises… A gold-feathered bird Sings in the palm.

Light the first light of evening, as in a room In which we rest and, for small reason, think The world imagined is the ultimate good.

We say God and the imagination are one… How high that highest candle lights the dark. 1

These external regions, what do we fill them with Except reflections, the escapades of death, Cinderella fulfilling herself beneath the roof.

It is the celestial ennui of apartments That sends us back to the first idea.

By the terrible incantations of defeats And by the fear that defeats and dreams The whole race is a poet that writes down The eccentric propositions of its fate.

It was the last nostalgia: that he Should understand.

It was the last nostalgia: that he Should understand.

The greatest poverty is not to live In a physical world, to feel that one’s desire Is too difficult to tell from despair.

The greatest poverty is not to live In a physical world, to feel that one’s desire Is too difficult to tell from despair.