I like being near the top of a mountain. One can't get lost here.

I cannot speak for more than an hour exclusively about poetry. At that point, life itself takes over again.

Most of the earth's inhabitants work to get by. They work because they have to. They didn't pick this or that kind of job out of passion; the circumstances of their lives did the choosing for them. Loveless work, boring work, work valued only because others haven't got even that much, however loveless and boring - this is one of the harshest human miseries. And there's no sign that coming centuries will produce any changes for the better as far as this goes.

Nothing can ever happen twice. In consequence, the sorry fact is that we arrive here improvised and leave without the chance to practice.

All the best have something in common, a regard for reality, an agreement to its primacy over the imagination. Even the richest, most surprising and wild imagination is not as rich, wild and surprising as reality. The task of the poet is to pick singular threads from this dense, colorful fabric.

It's a well-known fact: in order to follow doctor's orders, you have to be healthy as a horse.

No day copies yesterday, no two nights will teach what bliss is in precisely the same way, with precisely the same kisses.