Writers . . . write to give reality to experience.

The only thing about a man that is a man . . . is his mind. Everything else you can find in a pig or a horse.

If you commit yourself to the art of poetry, you commit yourself to the task of learning how to see, using words as elements of sight and their sounds as prisms. And to see means to see something worth all the agony of learning how to see.

A man who lives, not by what he loves but what he hates, is a sick man.

We are as great as our belief in human liberty - no greater. And our belief in human liberty is only ours when it is larger than ourselves.

Around, around the sun we go: The moon goes round the earth. We do not die of death: We die of vertigo.

There is no dusk to be, There is no dawn that was, Only there's now, and now, And the wind in the grass.