For poems are not, as people think, simply emotions (one has emotions early enough)-they are experiences.

Perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us yesterday, seperate, in the evening.

Your solitude will expand and become a place where you can live in the twilight, where the noise of other people passes, far in the distance.

God... sat down for a moment when the dog was finished in order to watch it... and to know that it was good, that nothing was lacking, that it could not have been made better.

You, darkness, of whom I am born- I love you more than the flame that limits the world to the circle it illumines and excludes the rest.

Do you remember how life yearned out of childhood toward the "great thing?" I see that it is now yearning forth beyond the great thing toward the greater one.

Irony: Don't let yourself be controlled by it, especially during uncreative moments.