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

Anger is the most impotent of passions. It effects nothing it goes about, and hurts the one who is possessed by it more than the one against whom it is directed.

It is necessary now and then for a man to go away by himself and experience loneliness; to sit on a rock in the forest and to ask of himself, 'Who am I, and where have I been, and where am I going?'...If one is not careful, one allows diversions to take up one's time-the stuff of life

An expert is a damn fool a long way from home.

Poetry is a section of river-fog and moving boat-lights, delivered between bridges and whistles, so one says, 'Oh!' and another, 'How?'

I take you and pile high the memories. Death will break her claws on some I keep.

I had been keeping an off eye on the advertising field, thinking I might become an idea man and a copywriter.