Empty pockets make empty heads.

We sit and talk quietly, with long lapses of silence, and I am aware of the stream that has no language, coursing beneath the quiet heaven of your eyes, which has no speech.

Poets are damned but they are not blind, they see with the eyes of angels.

Shoes twisted into incredible lilies.

First we have to see. Or first we have to be taught to see. We have to be taught to see here, because here is everywhere, related to everywhere else, and if we don't see, hear, taste, smell and feel in this place - not only will we never know anything but the world of sense will be by that much diminished everywhere.

My first poem was a bolt from the blue … it broke a spell of disillusion and suicidal despondence. ... it filled me with soul satisfying joy.

It is almost impossible to state what one in fact believes, because it is almost impossible to hold a belief and to define it at the same time.