Hope is an echo, hope ties itself yonder, yonder.

Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you.

Poetry is the establishment of a metaphorical link between white butterfly-wings and the scraps of torn-up love-letters.

Where was I going? I puzzled and wondered about it til I actually enjoyed the puzzlement and wondering.

Poetry is a tracing of the trajectories of a finite sound to the infinite points of its echoes.

What of the Wright boys in Dayton? Just around the corner they had a shop and did a bicycle business-and they wanted to fly for the sake of flying. They were Man the Seeker, Man on a Quest. Money was their last thought, their final absent-minded idea. They threw out a lot of old mistaken measurements and figured new ones that stood up when they took off and held the air and steered a course. They proved that "the faster you go the less power you need."

Rest is not a word of free people. Rest is a monarchical word.