As a very young poet, I had been brought up on that dogma that politics was bad for poetry.

In [family snapshots] the flow of profane time has been stopped and a sacred interval of self-conscious revelation has been cut from it by the edge of the picture frame and the light of the sun or the flash.

I have an inward treasure born with me, which can keep me alive if all the extraneous delights should be withheld or offered only at a price I cannot afford to give.

What we see, we see and seeing is changing

I keep coming back to you in my head, but you couldn't know that, and I have no carbons.

A language is a map of our failures

The liar leads an existence of unutterable loneliness.