There's always more to see.

The word and the shadow of the word / makes a thing both itself and something else / till we are metaphors and not ourselves . . .

Peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life.

We make too much of that long groan which underlines the past.

I know when dark-haired evening put on her bright silk at sunset, and, folding the sea sidled under the sheet with her starry laugh, that there'd be no rest, there'd be no forgetting. Is like telling mourners round the graveside about resurrection, they want the dead back.

For every poet it is always morning in the world; history a forgotten, insomniac night. The fate of poetry is to fall in love with the world in spite of history.

The first thing we have to do is get rid of the pentameter. To ditch the pentameter.