Here the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting, Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems

Human bodies are words, myriads of words, (In the best poems re-appears the body, man's or woman's, well-shaped, natural, gay, Every part able, active, receptive, without shame or the need of shame.)

Logic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul.

I am satisfied ... I see, dance, laugh, sing.

Some people are so much sunshine to the square inch.

I have said that the soul is not more than the body, And I have said that the body is not more than the soul, And nothing, not God, is greater to one than one's-self is.

Every cubic inch of space is a miracle.