It isn't enough for your heart to break because everybody's heart is broken now.

The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is holy the hearers are holy the ecstacy is holy!

Follow your inner moonlight; don't hide the madness.

Things are symbols of themselves.

I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber,poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys. I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?

The desire to have power dissolves. The desire to dominate people for love dissolves. On the other hand, it's a relief to realize you can let go.

Tell your secrets. [In reply to the question "How does one become a prophet?"]