In the end I would rather wonder than know

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 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.

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?

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.

I would like to do something a little bit more edgy.

Wherever there are sinners, the weak, the sorrowful, the poor in the world, that is where God goes.

Gentlemen, we have run out of money. It is time to start thinking.

If you get comfortable, that's how you fall off.

You believe in freedom of speech for communists because what they say is true. You do not believe in freedom of speech for fascists because what they say is a lie.

Putin is somebody who really respects strength.

It was Ba's inspiration which helped me reach the heights of my inner self. She was my priceless jewel.

I pretty much got busted for everything, but I definitely stretched out my boundaries as a kid, as well.

I felt that the beach portraits were all self-portraits. That moment of unease, that attempt to find a pose, it was all about me.

Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, a face without a heart?