But he had gone his way, the grass all mown, And I must be, as he had been - alone, As all must be, I said within my heart, Whether they work together or apart.

Writing a poem is discovering.

Space ails us moderns: we are sick with space.

Nothing is quite honest that is not commercial, but not everything commercial is honest.

We love the things we love for what they are.

It's hard to get into this world and hard to get out of it, and what's in between doesn't make much sense.

All there is to writing is having ideas. To learn to write is to learn to have ideas.