Those hours given over to basking in the glow of an imagined future, of being carried away in streams of promise by a love or a passion so strong that one felt altered forever and convinced that even the smallest particle of the surrounding world was charged with purpose of impossible grandeur; ah, yes, and one would look up into the trees and be thrilled by the wind- loosened river of pale, gold foliage cascading down and by the high, melodious singing of countless birds; those moments, so many and so long ago, still come back, but briefly, like fireflies in the perfumed heat of summer night.

I think the best American poetry is the poetry that utilizes the resources of poetry rather than exploits the defects or triumphs of the poet's personality.

I haven’t met God and I haven’t been to heaven, so I’m skeptical.

Each moment is a place you've never been.

The future is always beginning now.

Nothing is the destiny of everyone, it is our commonness made dumb.

A life is not sufficiently elevated for poetry, unless, of course, the life has been made into an art.