We are reading the story of our lives As though we were in it As though we had written it.

The reality of a poem is a very ghostly one. It suggests, it suggests, it suggests again.

It's very hard to write humor.

I don't really think it will make much difference to me when I'm dead whether I'm read or not . . . just as whether I'm dead or not won't mean much to me when I'm dead.

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

It came to my house. It sat on my shoulders. Your shadow is yours. I told it so. I said it was yours. I have carried it with me too long. I give it back.

The number of people writing poems is vast, and their reasons for doing so are many, that much can be surmised from the stacks of submissions.