Being kissed on the back of the knee is a moth at the windowscreen.

They [daisies] are my favorite flower. There is something innocent and vulnerable about them as if they thanked you for admiring them.

One of my secret instructions to myself as a poet is "Whatever you do, don't be boring."

I like you; your eyes are full of language." [Letter to Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.]

Perhaps I am no one. True, I have a body and I cannot escape from it. I would like to fly out of my head, but that is out of the question.

The soul was not cured, it was as full as a clothes closet of dresses that did not fit.

The boys and girls are one tonight. They unbutton blouses. They unzip flies. They take off shoes. They turn off the light. The glimmering creatures are full of lies. They are eating each other. They are overfed. At night, alone, I marry the bed.