It was the bumble bee and the butterfly who survived, not the dinosaur.

I am luminous with age.

Money is only money, beans tonight and steak tomorrow. So long as you can look yourself in the eye.

You can tell by looking at most people that the world remains a stone to them and a closed door.

Literature must spring from the deep and submerged humus of our life.

Lie in the sun with the child in your flesh shining like a jewel. Dream and sing, pagan, wise in your vitals. Stand still like a fat budding tree, like a stalk of corn athrob and aglisten in the heat. Lie like a mare panting with the dancing feet of colts against her sides. Sleep at night as the spring earth. Walk heavily as a wheat stalk at its full time bending towards the earth waiting for the reaper. Let your life swell downward so you become like a vase, a vessel. Let the unknown child knock and knock against you and rise like a dolphin within.

Human history is work history. The heroes of the people are work heroes.