Heaven is not like flying or swimming, but has something to do with blackness and a strong glare.

What one seems to want in art, in experiencing it, is the same thing that is necessary for its creation, a self-forgetful, perfectly useless concentration.

Think of the long trip home. Should we have stayed home and thought of here? Where should we be today?

Sometimes it seemsas though only intelligent people are stupid enough to fall in love & only stupid people are intelligent enough to let themselves be loved.

And as to experience-well, think how little some good poets have had, or how much some bad ones have.

I've never written the things I'd like to write that I've admired all my life. Maybe one never does.

Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.