The universe is made of stories, not of atoms.

The process of writing a poem represents work done on the self of the poet, in order to make form.

I am working out the vocabulary of my silence.

What three things can never be done? / Forget. Keep silent. Stand alone

dogma and shrinking from the external world are at one limit of the range of belief. At the other are science and poetry and, indeed, reality.

Outrage and possibility are in all the poems we know.

I think there is a choice possible to us at any moment, as long as we live. But there is no sacrifice. There is a choice, and the rest falls away. Second choice does not exist. Beware of those who talk about sacrifice.