The white sun like a moth on a string circles the southpole.

For though we often need to be restored to the small, concrete, limited, and certain, we as often need to be reminded of the large, vague, unlimited, unknown

Only silence perfects silence.

A poem generated by its own laws may be unrealized and bad in terms of so-called objective principles of taste, judgement, deduction.

Anything looked at closely becomes wonderful.

Once every five hundred years or so, a summary statement about poetry comes along that we can't imagine ourselves living without

You have your identity when you find out, not what you can keep your mind ON, but what you can't keep your mind OFF.