Poetry is an art practiced with the terribly plastic material of human language.

We had two grand antique professors who had been teaching at Lombard since before I was born.

Poetry is a mystic, sensuous mathematics of fire, smoke-stacks, waffles, pansies, people, and purple sunsets.

The sea is always the same: and yet the sea always changes.

Strange things blow in through my window on the wings of the night wind and I don't worry about my destiny.

When I was writing pretty poor poetry, this girl with midnight black hair told me to go on.

Now is the time. It is never too late to start something.