This is the first, wildest, and wisest thing I know, that the soul exists, and that it is built entirely out of attention.

He is exactly the poem I wanted to write.

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

In my own work, I usually revise through forty or fifty drafts of a poem before I begin to feel content with it.

I held my breath as we do sometimes to stop time when something wonderful has touched us.

Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone. When I'm alone I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing. If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.

A dog comes to you and lives with you in your own house, but you do not therefore own her, as you do not own the rain, or the trees, or the laws which pertain to them ... A dog can never tell you what she knows from the smells of the world, but you know, watching her, that you know almost nothing. . .