Honesty is as rare as a man without self-pity.

Occasionally I encounter people getting into their cars who will say, "Oh, you haven't been walking lately" - like I'm a symbol of the ancient art of walking!

We thought we were done with these things but we were wrong. We thought, because we had power, we had wisdom.

Go play with the towns you have built of blocks, The towns where you would have bound me! I sleep in my earth like a tired fox, And my bufdfalo have found me.

The art finds kingdoms in a foot of ground.

A phrase may come to me as I am walking, and, once I write it down in my journal, the rest of the poem will unravel from that catalyst.

You can take off your hats now, gentlemen, and I think perhaps you'd better.