Wherever I am, the world comes after me. It offers me its busyness. It does not believe that I do not want it. Now I understand why the old poets of China went so far and high into the mountains, then crept into the pale mist.

it is a serious thing // just to be alive / on this fresh morning / in this broken world.

I do not live happily or comfortably With the cleverness of our times. The talk is all about computers, The news is all about bombs and blood. This morning, in the fresh field, I came upon a hidden nest. It held four warm, speckled eggs. I touched them. Then went away softly, Having felt something more wonderful Than all the electricity of New York City.

As a child, what captivated me was reading the poems myself and realizing that there was a world without material substance which was nevertheless as alive as any other.

When it's over I don't want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

The sea isn't a place but a fact, and a mystery.

A dog is adorable and noble, a dog is a true and loving friend. A dog is also a hedonist.