In heaven we are all ghostwriters, if we write at all.

Keats mourned that the rainbow, which as a boy had been for him a magic thing, had lost its glory because the physicists had found it resulted merely from the refraction of the sunlight by the raindrops. Yet knowledge of its causation could not spoil the rainbow for me. I am sure that it is not given to man to be omniscient. There will always be something left to know, something to excite the imagination of the poet and those attuned to the great world in which they live (p. 64)

We cannot tell some people what it is believe, partly because they are too stupid to understand, partly because we are too proudly vague to explain.

Everything written is as good as it is dramatic. It need not declare itself in form, but it is drama or nothing.

A poem may be worked over once it is in being, but may not be worried into being.

I write to find out what I didn't know I knew.

The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.