The glacier knocks in the cupboard, The desert sighs in the bed, And the crack in the teacup opens A lane to the land of the dead.

God is Love, we are taught as children to believe. But when we first begin to get some inkling of how He loves us, we are repelled; it seems so cold, indeed, not love at all as we understand the word.

A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language.

Literary confessors are contemptible, like beggars who exhibit their sores for money, but not so contemptible as the public that buys their books.

The camera may do justice to laughter, but must degrade sorrow.

History marched to the drums of a clear idea...

Yet no one hears his own remarks as prose.