Live in a perpetual great astonishment.

What we need is more people who specialize in the impossible.

You must believe: a poem is a holy thing - a good poem, that is. The poem, even a short time after being written, seems no miracle; unwritten, it seems something beyond the capacity of the gods.

To follow the drops sliding from a lifting oar, Head up, while the rower breathes, and the small boat drifts quietly shoreward.

Reason? That dreary shed, that hutch for grubby schoolboys.

Nothing would give up life: Even the dirt keeps breathing a small breath.

Be sure that whatever you are is you.