I suppose I did feel a certain public pressure always.

I have begun to think of life as a series of ripples widening out from an original center.

Write whatever you like!

Wherever that man went, he went gratefully.

Poetry cannot afford to lose its fundamentally self-delighting inventiveness, its joy in being a process of language as well as a representation of things in the world.

Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests; snug as a gun. ~from the poem "Digging

Im a firm believer in learning by heart.