Donald Justice

“Already the lights of the city are turning on, a little necklace of lights, a gift for the darkening boy.”

“There is a sadness in clothes, a pathos of the bygone, that is not in skin.”

“How shallow the frost on the stone, on the root, on the leaf!”

“Let us honor the luck of our dying.”

“It is the future that creates the past.”

“But the clocks are chiming, the clocks are striking the hour. It is time for the clocks to be right.”

“Other dawns, other days, another life.”

“Men at forty learn to close softly the doors to rooms they will not be coming back to.”

“The clocks are sorry, the clocks are slow.”

“Poetry is a slight disorder of the syntax.”

“I have come to the edge of the wood, and I must go in, I suppose.”