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.

Happy in all that ragged, loose collapse of water, the fountain, its effortless descent and flatteries of spray.

The eye is pleased when nature stoops to art.

Odd that a thing is most itself when likened

The strength of the genie comes from being in a bottle.

That's the main business of the poem!-to see if you can't make up a language that sets all your selves talking at once-all of them being fair to each other.

Step off assuredly into the blank of your mind. Something will come to you.