There is nothing at all that can be talked about adequately, and the whole art of poetry is to say what can't be said.

We are all as much extraordinary phenomena of nature as trees, clouds, the patterns in running water, the flickering of fire, the arrangement of the stars and the form of a galaxy.

Parts exist only for purposes of figuring and describing, and as we figure the world out we become confused if we do not remember this all the time.

Life exists only at this very moment, and in this moment it is infinite and eternal, for the present moment is infinitely small; before we can measure it, it has gone, and yet it exists forever.

For the perfect accomplishment of any art, you must get this feeling of the eternal present into your bones - for it is the secret of proper timing. No rush. No dawdle. Just the sense of flowing with the course of events in the same way that you dance to music, neither trying to outpace it nor lagging behind. Hurrying and delaying are alike ways of trying to resist the present.

Faith...is letting go and trusting oneself to the unknown.

To feel that life is meaningless unless “I” can be permanent is like having fallen desperately in love with an inch.