I liked looking on at other people in crucial situations. If there was a road accident or a street fight or a baby pickled in a laboratory jar for me to look at, I'd stop and look so hard I never forgot it.

I would say everything should be able to come into a poem, but I can't put toothbrushes into a poem, I really can't!

Remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I’ve taken for granted.

I didn't know what I was doing in New York.

What is so real as the cry of a child? A rabbit's cry may be wilder But it has no soul.

Do we always grind through the present, doomed to throw a gold haze of fond retrospect over the past?

I think the coming of spring, the stars overhead, the first snowfall and so on are gifts for a child, a young poet.