Now between the meanings of words and their sounds there is ordinarily no discoverable — John Crowe Ransom
It is a miracle of harmony, of the adaptation of the free inner life to the outward necessity of things. — John Crowe Ransom
For no art and no religion is possible until we make allowances, until we manage to keep — John Crowe Ransom
And how can poetry stand up against its new conditions? its position is perfectly precarious. — John Crowe Ransom