I came from a very intellectual neighborhood. When we played cowboys and Indians as kids, I had to be Gandhi.

It looked as if a night of dark intent was coming, and not only a night, an age. Someone had better be prepared for rage.

A definite purpose, like blinders on a horse, inevitably narrows its possessor's point of view.

The chance is the remotest, Of its going much longer unnoticed, That I'm not keeping pace With the headlong human race

What is done is done for the love of it- or not really done at all.

Every poem is a momentary stay against the confusion of the world.

Nature is always hinting at us.