Poetry is the art of creating imaginary gardens with real toads.

Impatience is the mark of independence, not of bondage.

he who gives quickly gives twice / in nothing so much as in a letter.

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

It is human nature to stand in the middle of a thing.

Below the incandescent stars / below the incandescent fruit, / the strange experience of beauty; / its existence is too much; / it tears one to pieces / and each fresh wave of consciousness / is poison.

I see no reason for calling my work poetry except that there is no other category in which to put it.