Alike and ever alike, we are on all continents in the need of love, food, clothing, work, speech, worship, sleep, games, dancing, fun. From tropics to arctics humanity live with these needs so alike, so inexorably alike.

Always the path of American destiny has been into the unknown. Always there arose enough reserves of strength, balances of sanity, portions of wisdom to carry the nation through to a fresh start with ever-renewing vitality.

Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable.

I decided I would go to Chicago and try my luck as a writer after those eight months as a fireman.

And how should a beautiful, ignorant stream of water know it heads for an early release — out across the desert, running toward the Gulf, below sea level, to murmur its lullaby, and see the Imperial Valley rise out of burning sand with cotton blossoms, wheat, watermelons, roses, how should it know?

Be careful with your words, once they are said, they can only be forgiven, not forgotten.

Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.