Today, from the bridge, the East River is sparkling. The money is swirling around the tall buildings like tides or like tithes, And I wonder, does anyone swim in this river, I wonder, does anyone pray?

I do not play the instrument In longing but in quest Not to be undertaken Not to be lost In a forest of bliss.

It is one thing to write a good sentence, another to write a good book.

When I moved to New York, the reputation just followed me, and I am regularly invited to play in home games, by writers in particular, though finance folk also invite me on occasion.

It should be everyone's right in a capitalist system to have some way to take advantage of compound interest.

There is, in the heart, the hard-rendering profit. As if we were plucking the leaves from the trees.

I do think most poets are in denial about what the real taboos in writing are--the real boundaries.