Not all things are blest, but the seeds of all things are blest.

Flight is intolerable contradiction.

The universe of poetry is the universe of emotional truth. Our material is in the way we feel and the way we remember.

I am working out the vocabulary of my silence.

I hear the singing of the lives of women. They clear mystery, the offering, and pride.

Everywhere we are told that our human resources are all to be used, that our civilization itself means the uses of everything it has - the inventions, the histories, every scrap of fact. But there is one kind of knowledge - infinitely precious, time-resistant more than monuments, here to be passed between the generations in any way it may be: never to be used. And that is poetry.

The fear of poetry is an indication that we are cut off from our own reality.