To be a good loser is to learn how to win.

Poetry is a sequence of dots and dashes, spelling depths, crypts, cross-lights, and moon wisps.

The drum in a dream pounds loud to the dreamer.

I have often wondered what it is an old building can do to you when you happen to know a little about things that went on long ago in that building.

I wrote poems in my corner of the Brooks Street station. I sent them to two editors who rejected them right off. I read those letters of rejection years later and I agreed with those editors.

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

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo. Shovel them under and let me work- I am the grass; I cover all. And pile them high at Gettysburg. And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun. Shovel them under and let me work. Two years, ten years,and passengers ask the conductor- What place is this? Where are we now? I am the grass. Let me work.