The Night is young & full of rest, I can't describe the way she's dress'd, She'll pander to some strange requests, Anything that you suggest, Anything to please her guest.

The world becomes an apparently infinite, yet possibly finite, card game. Image combinations, permutations, comprise the world game.

I still like to live in a whimsical world that seems more romantic and fantasy-related because real life seems so hard.

I trembled to think of a world without stars. No guide for the sailor to trust at see, no jewels to dazzle our sense of beauty [...] But all around the globe, the air is so dirty and the lights from the cities are so bright that for some people few stars can be seen anymore. A generation of children may grow up seeing a blank sky and asking, "Did there used to be stars there?"

Every poem is a momentary stay against the confusion of the world.

Perhaps that dawn will come from this horizon, from the East where the sun rises. A day will come when unvanquished Man will retrace his path of conquest, despite all barriers, to win back his lost human heritage.