I was hurrying through my own soul . . . I was leaning out . . . I was listening.

All culture developed as some wild, raw creature strived to live better and longer.

One thing I do know is that poetry, to be understood, must be clear.

Of course! The path to heaven doesn't lie down in flat miles. It's in the imagination with which you perceive this world, and the gestures with which you honor it.

When When it’s over, it’s over, and we don’t know any of us, what happens then. So I try not to miss anything. I think, in my whole life, I have never missed The full moon or the slipper of its coming back. Or, a kiss. Well, yes, especially a kiss.

I wanted to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know, whoever I was, I was alive for a little while.

Listen--are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?