I cried over beautiful things, knowing no beautiful thing lasts.

Arithmetic is where the answer is right and everything is nice and you can look out of the window and see the blue sky - or the answer is wrong and you have to start over and try again and see how it comes out this time.

My room for books and study or for sitting and thinking about nothing in particular to see what would happen was at the end of a hall.

Often I look back and see that I had been many kinds of a fool-and that I had been happy in being this or that kind of fool.

Poetry is the harnessing of the paradox of earth cradling life and then entombing it.

Arithmetic is numbers you squeeze from your head to your hand to your pencil to your paper till you get the answer.

And all poets love dust and mist because all the last answers. Go running back to dust and mist.