There is no country but the heart.

...the air so still it aches like the place where the tooth was on the morning after you’ve been to the dentist or aches like your heart in the bosom when you stand on the street corner waiting for the light to change and happen to recollect how things once were and how they might have been yet if what happened had not happened.

Maybe a man has to sell his soul to get the power to do good.

The poem . . . is a little myth of man's capacity of making life meaningful. And in the end, the poem is not a thing we see-it is, rather, a light by which we may see-and what we see is life.

I reckon I am a smart aleck, but it is just a way to pass the time.

Reality is not a function of the event as event, but of the relationship of that event to past, and future, events.

If you could not accept the past and its burden there was no future, for without one there cannot be the other.