Facts interest me less than the trailing smoke of stories.

We all find ourselves involved in projects or activities that confound us-when or why did I say I would do this? What was I thinking? I needed a poem for myself that said-pause longer. Think again.

We dropped our troubles into the lap of the storyteller, and they turned into someone else's.

This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.

I'm writing mostly to thank you for living you eighty years and to tell you I love you and think of you often.

When allowed to return to the class, your feelings of humility and lonesomeness will render you a much finer student and person.

Poetry [is] more necessary than ever as a fire to light our tongues.