The beautiful feeling after writing a poem is on the whole better even than after sex, and that's saying a lot.
I like you; your eyes are full of language." [Letter to Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.]
Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.
Then all this became history. Your hand found mine. Life rushed to my fingers like a blood clot. Oh, my carpenter, the fingers are rebuilt. They dance with yours.
... a starving man doesn't ask what the meal is.
It's a little mad, but I believe I am many people. When I am writing a poem, I feel I am the person who should have written it.