It is necessary ... for a man to go away by himself ... to sit on a rock ... and ask, 'Who am I, where have I been, and where am I going?

Poetry is an enumeration of birds, bees, babies, butterflies, bugs, bambinos, babayagas, and bipeds, beating their way up bewildering bastions.

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

There is a wolf in me... - I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

Enough small empty boxes thrown into a big empty box fill it full.

Whenever a people or an institution forget its hard beginnings, it is beginning to decay.

I have in later years taken to Euclid, Whitehead, Bertrand Russell, in an elemental way.