All that we do is touched with ocean, and yet we remain on the shore of what we know
Composition for me is, externally at least, scarcely distinguishable from catatonia.
Step off assuredly into the blank of your mind. Something will come to you.
The strength of the genie comes from being in a bottle.
Caught Summer is always an imagined time. Time gave it, yes, but time out of any mind. There must be prime In the heart to beget that season, to reach past rain and find Riding the palest days Its perfect blaze.
Writing poetry is talking to oneself; yet it is a mode of talking to oneself in which the self disappears; and the product's something that, though it may not be for everybody, is about everybody.