Poetry is a theorem of a yellow-silk handkerchief knotted with riddles, sealed in a balloon tied to the tail of a kite flying in a white wind against a blue sky in spring.

Slang is a language that rolls up its sleeves, spits on its hands and goes to work.

I doubt if you can have a truly wild party without liquor.

Two bubbles found they had rainbows on their curves. They flickered out saying: "It was worth being a bubble, just to have held that rainbow thirty seconds.

Poetry is the silence and speech between a wet struggling root of a flower and a sunlit blossom of that flower.

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

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