In life, the number of beginnings is exactly equal to the number of endings ... In poetry, the number of beginnings so far exceeds the number of endings that we cannot even conceive of it.

I have become an orchid washed in on the salt white beach. Memory, what can I make of it now that might please you- this life, already wasted and still strewn with miracles?

A poem is a finished work of the mind, it is not the work of a finished mind.

We are all one question, and the best answer seems to be love—a connection between things.

in the beginning William Shakespeare was a baby, and knew absolutely nothing. He couldn't even speak.

I'm lucky enough to occasionally be able to do something I love - write poems - and unlucky enough that what I love confuses and overwhelms me.

Art has always been aware of itself as art.

In our marginal existence, what else is there but this voice within us, this great weirdness we are always leaning forward to listen to?

In the end I would rather wonder than know

The origins of poetry are clearly rooted in obscurity, in secretiveness, in incantation, in spells that must at once invoke and protect, tell the secret and keep it.

Words have a love for each other, a desire that culminates in poetry.

Love is the strongest strength of the soul.

Our Father Who Art in Heaven gathered more meaning for me as my own father joined the Maker when I was still in school.

He only wanted to use me for something. Everyone wanted to use you for some purpose.

The whole universe is like some big FedEx box.

I don't like putting people on a pedestal, I think ideas are more exciting

Law of Airlines: The shorter the time between flights, the greater the distance between gates.

When we face uncertainty, we encourage everyone to press forward and believe in the values of the product.

It's not a case of us against them, it's a matter of melding all people's skills and resources to create a better world for everyone !

I don't go to church much anymore, but Methodist values still wind me up and send me ticking into my daily life.

What blinds us, or what makes historical progress very difficult, is our lack of awareness of our ignorance.