If technique is of no interest to a writer, I doubt that the writer is an artist.

There never was a war that was not inward.

... imaginary gardens with real toads in them ... ... if you demand on one hand, the raw material of poetry in all its rawness and that which is on the other hand genuine, then you are interested in poetry.

War is pillage versus resistance and if illusions of magnitude could be transmuted into ideals of magnanimity, peace might be realized.

Any writer overwhelmingly honest about pleasing himself is almost sure to please others.

I never 'plan' a stanza. Words cluster like chromosomes, determining the procedure.

We prove, we do not explain, our birth.