He came after Homer and before Gertrude Stein, a difficult interval for a poet.

I never had much education in English poetry as such.

It is easier to tell a story of how people wound one another than of what binds them together.

Small, red, and upright he waited, gripping his new bookbag tight in one hand and touching a lucky penny inside his coat pocket with the other, while the first snows of winter floated down on his eyelashes and covered the branches around him and silenced all trace of the world.

A page with a poem on it is less attractive than a page with a poem on it and some tea stains.

No need to fear death. There will be a tunnel and light.

At least half of your mind is always thinking, I'll be leaving; this won't last. It's a good Buddhist attitude. If I were a Buddhist, this would be a great help. As it is, I'm just sad.