I asked the professors who teach the meaning of life to tell me what is happiness. And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands of men. They all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though I was trying to fool with them. And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along the Desplaines river and I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with their women and children and a keg of beer and an accordion.

Poetry is a kinetic arrangement of static syllables.

Newspapers tell beforehand what is going to happen - maybe.

Money buys everything except love, personality, freedom, immortality, silence, peace.

There is only one man in the world and his name is All Men. There is only one woman in the world and her name is All Women. There is only one child in the world and the child's name is All Children.

Who am I, where have I been, and where am I going?

Poetry is a fossil rock-print of a fin and a wing, with an illegible oath between.