The machinations of ambiguity are among the very roots of poetry.

Poets, on the face of it, have either got to be easier or to write their own notes; readers have either got to take more trouble over reading or cease to regard notes as pretentious and a sign of bad poetry

The heart of standing is that you cannot fly.

Proust has listed a great many reasons why it is impossible to be happy, but, in the course of being happy, one finds it difficult to remember them.

This world is good enough for me, if only I can be good enough for it.

Slowly the poison the whole blood stream fills. It is not the effort nor the failure tires. The waste remains, the waste remains and kills.

The machinations of ambiguity are among the very roots of poetry.