Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire that closes round me this year.
William Carlos WilliamsMy surface is myself. Under which to witness, youth is buried. Roots? Everybody has roots.
William Carlos WilliamsPoetry demands a different material than prose. It uses another facet of the same fact... the spontaneous conformation of language as it is heard.
William Carlos Williams