History is all explained by geography.

The poem is a little myth of man's capacity of making life meaningful.

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

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.

Real writers are those who want to write, need to write, have to write.

The poet is in the end probably more afraid of the dogmatist who wants to extract the message from the poem and throw the poem away than he is of the sentimentalist who says, "Oh, just let me enjoy the poem."

How do poems grow? They grow out of your life.