The more I live, the more I think, two people together is a miracle.

No one sleeps in this room without the dream of a common language.

We must use what we have to invent what we desire.

When someone with the authority of a teacher describes the world and you’re not in it, there’s a moment of psychic disequilibrium, as if you looked into a mirror and saw nothing.

For now, poetry has the capacity - in its own ways and by its own means - to remind us of something we are forbidden to see.

The worker can unionize, go out on strike; mothers are divided from each other in homes, tied to their children by compassionate bonds; our wildcat strikes have most often taken the form of physical or mental breakdown.

We can count on so few people to go that hard way with us.