To a large extent, the problems of poets are the problems of painters, and poets must often turn to the literature of painting for a discussion of their own problems.

The philosopher proves that the philosopher exists. The poet merely enjoys existence.

Perhaps it is of more value to infuriate philosophers than to go along with them.

It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice.

Imagination...is the irrepressible revolutionist.

For the listener, who listens in the snow, / And, nothing himself, beholds / Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

I am what is around me.