One of my earliest memories as a reader - I don't know how old I was, quite young - was a poem of his, called "Fog," and I remember the first verse, "The fog comes / on little cat feet".

Just because it's on the radio doesn't mean we have to suspend belief in the evidence of our senses.

In a crisis the true facts are whatever other people say they are.

Past, present and future are not amenities of language. Time unfolds into the seamsof being. It passes through you, making and shaping.

I marched and I protested against the war in Vietnam, along with many, many thousands of others. But I never quite understood the bombs that were placed in science labs or office buildings.

The less there was to see, the harder he looked, the more he saw. (Point Omega)

That's why people take vacations. No to relax or find excitement or see new places. To escape the death that exists in routine things.