The moon is nothing But a circumambulating aphrodisiac Divinely subsidized to provoke the world Into a rising birth-rate

Between our birth and death we may touch understanding, As a moth brushes a window with its wing

There may always be another reality to make fiction of the truth we think we've arrived at.

Imagination is the wide-open eye which leads us always to see truth more vividly.

Poetry is the language in which man explores his own amazement... says heaven and earth in one word... speaks of himself and his predicament as though for the first time.

If we could wake each morning with no memory of living before we went to sleep, we might arrive at a faultless day.

I travel light; as light, that is, as a man can travel who will still carry his body around because of its sentimental value.