In the country of pain we are each alone.

I find that when I have any appointment, even an afternoon one, it changes the whole quality of time. I feel overcharged. There is no space for what wells up from the subconscious; those dreams and images live in deep still water and simply submerge when the day gets scattered.

I have never written a book that was not born out of a question I needed to answer for myself.

I cannot understand why poetry is not taught at schools as a way of seeing, a quick, untiring path to essentials.

I feel often very close to the ecstasy and anguish which lie at the very heart of poetry - I am writing a lot.

Mountains define you. You cannot define / Them.

What is there to do when people die - people so dear and rare - but bring them back by remembering?