If I believe in anything, it is in the dark night of the soul. Awe is my religion, and mystery is its church.

Words make love on the page like flies in the summer heat and the poet is only the bemused spectator.

For Emily Dickinson every philosophical idea was a potential lover. Metaphysics is the realm of eternal seduction of the spirit by ideas.

Inside my empty bottle I was constructing a lighthouse while all others were making ships.

I left parts of myself everywhere, The way absent-minded people leave Gloves and umbrellas Whose colors are sad from dispensing so much bad luck

Poetry is an orphan of silence. The words never quite equal the experience behind them.

The highest levels of consciousness are wordless.