Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo. Shovel them under and let me work. I am the grass. I cover all.

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

The drum in a dream pounds loud to the dreamer.

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

Calling it off comes easy enough if you haven't told the girl you are smitten with her.

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

All my life I have been trying to learn to read, to see and hear, and to write.