There is a grace of life which is still yours, my dear Europe.

I take space to be the central fact to man born in America. I spell it large because it comes large here. Large and without mercy.

This morning of the small snow I count the blessings, the leak in the faucet which makes of the sink time, the drop of the water on water.

You don't help people in your poems. I've been trying to help people all my life - that's my trouble

You can read everybody. It's not even interesting to tell the truth because to some extent it's false.

I'm trying to climb up both walls at once.

I'm one of the cliches that has grown up.