[The essences of things] are suspended on the invisible dimension whose vibrance has been denied the human eye at all times save in the intuition of ecstasy.

[The essences of things] are suspended on the invisible dimension whose vibrance has been denied the human eye at all times save in the intuition of ecstasy.

I can remember much forgetfulness.

The fact that The Bridge contains folk lore and other material suitable to the epic form need not therefore prove its failure as a long lyric poem, with interrelated sections.

Love: a burnt match skating in a urinal.

One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them, to have the right ones form themselves into the proper pattern at the right moment.

Goodbye, everybody! (Suicide note)