True power is given to the vulnerable.

He [the cat] wound himself around her legs, purring the purr of ardent desire like a kettle coming to a boil and then bubbling very fast.

People who cannot feel punish those who do.

The beginner hugs his infant poem to him and does not want it to grow up. But you may have to break your poem to remake it.

One could go on revising a prose page forever whereas there is a point in a poem when one knows it is done forever.

over and over again I am struck by the wordiness of modern poetry, as if language had replaced experience and must be more and more extreme, intricate and in a way divorced from life itself. It seems as if what we all need is a great purification - but how will that come about?

I suppose real old age begins when one looks backward rather than forward