If I've done my work well, I vanish completely from the scene. I believe it is invasive of the work when you know too much about the writer.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

The world is: fun, and familiar, and healthful, and unbelievably refreshing, and lovely. And it is the theater of the spiritual; it is the multiform utterly obedient to a mystery.

Always there is something worth saying about glory, about gratitude.

And over one more set of hills, along the sea, the last roses have opened their factories of sweetness and are giving it back to the world. If I had another life I would want to spend it all on some unstinting happiness.

On poetry: Everyone wants to know what it means. But nobody is asking, How does it feel?

He is exactly the poem I wanted to write.