I listen to music a great deal. In a way, it's trying to express things that can't be expressed in words. That's something that interests me, too. Even though I use words to express myself, I am trying to, it seems to me, get beyond that.

The winter does what it can for its children.

Somewhere someone is traveling furiously toward you, At incredible speed, traveling day and night.

The gray glaze of the past attacks all know-how...

I tried each thing, only some were immortal and free.

Part of the strength of Pollock and Rothko's art, in fact, is this doubt as to whether art may be there at all.

I like poems you can tack all over with a hammer and there are no hollow places.