Every day, every day I hear enough to fill a year of nights with wondering.

Grief is a hole you walk around in the daytime and at night you fall into it.

It's when we face for a moment the worst our kind can do, and shudder to know the taint in our own selves, that awe cracks the mind's shell and enters the heart.

Wear scarlet! Tear the green lemons off the tree! I don't want to forget who I am, what has burned in me, and hang limp and clean, an empty dress -

I believe every space and comma is a living part of the poem and has its function, just as every muscle and pore of the body has its function. And the way the lines are broken is a functioning part essential to the life of the poem.

The artist must create himself or be born again.

Nothing we do has the quickness, the sureness, the deep intelligence living at peace would have.