I don't ask for the sights in front of me to change, only the depth of my seeing.

Every day I see or hear something that more or less kills me with delight, that leaves me like a needle in the haystack of light.

I don't know lots of things but I know this: next year when spring flows over the starting point I'll think I'm going to drown in the shimmering miles of it.

And that is just the point... how the world, moist and beautiful, calls to each of us to make a new and serious response. That's the big question, the one the world throws at you every morning. "Here you are, alive. Would you like to make a comment?

I got saved by poetry. And I got saved by the beauty of the world.

I read the way a person might swim, to save his or her life. I wrote that way too.

When it's over I don't want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real.