... Let us risk the wildest places, Lest we go down in comfort, and despair.

I have trouble with some books because I'm so much in agreement with them I'd rather just sit in the grass myself.

It is better for the heart to break, than not to break.

...whoever you are, not matter how lonely the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh & exciting - over & over announcing your place in the family of things.

For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread in the pockets of the hungry.

Wild sings the bird of the heart in the forests of our lives.

Writing a poem ... is a kind of possible love affair between something like the heart (that courageous but also shy factory of emotion) and the learned skills of the conscious mind.