There ain't nothin' to dyin', really. You just get tired. You kind of drift away.

Poetry is a hazardous occupation, very hazardous. There may be bad things in there inside you that maybe you can't handle.

To be precise and reckless: that is the consummation devoutly to be wished.

William Packard surely must be one of the great editors of our time.

The New York Quarterly is an amazing, intelligent, crazy, creative, strange, and indispensable magazine.

A poet trains himself to stand out in a storm and be struck by lightning. If he is lucky enough to be struck six times, he becomes immortal. Randall Jarrell said it and he's right.

Detachment produces a peculiar state of mind. Maybe that's the worst sentence of all, to be deprived of feeling what a human being ought to be entitled to feel.