Snow was falling, so much like stars filling the dak trees that one could easily imagine its reason for being was nothing more the prettiness.

Still, what I want in my life is to be willing to be dazzled---to cast aside the weight of facts and maybe even to float a little above this difficult world.

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.

I grew up in a sad, depressed place. I got out. Poetry saved my life.

The dream of my life is to lie down by a slow river and stare at the light in the trees - to learn something by being nothing

Why should I not sit, every morning of my life, on the hillside, looking into the shining world?

I simply do not distinguish between work and play.