The other week I wrote a piece on a photograph I got at a flea market, and I got about 70 hits. I think a lot of people must be interested in flea markets.

I tried to think of my knowledge, but it was a squirrel's heap of winter nuts. There was no strength in my knowledge any more and I felt small and naked as a new-hatched bird.

There's nothing compared to the history of writing about the city of New York that you get, say, in Charles Reznikoff.

Defeat is a fact and victory can be a fact. If the idea is good, it will survive defeat, it may even survive the victory.

We do not fight for the real but for shadows we make. A flag is a piece of cloth and a word is a sound, But we make them something neither cloth nor a sound, Totems of love and hate, black sorcery-stones.

The art finds kingdoms in a foot of ground.

I admire the attention other writers can give to the world we're walking in.