Stars scribble on our eyes the frosty sagas, The gleaming cantos of unvanquished space. (Cape Hatteras

One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them, to have the right ones form themselves into the proper pattern at the right moment.

Let my lusts be my ruin, then, since all else is a fake and a mockery.

Love: a burnt match skating in a urinal.

Permit me voyage, love, into your hands.

Goodbye, everybody! (Suicide note)

I can remember much forgetfulness.

One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them.

[The essences of things] are suspended on the invisible dimension whose vibrance has been denied the human eye at all times save in the intuition of ecstasy.

The fact that The Bridge contains folk lore and other material suitable to the epic form need not therefore prove its failure as a long lyric poem, with interrelated sections.

And so it was I entered the broken world To trace the visionary company of love, its voice An instant in the wind (I know not whither hurled) But not for long to hold each desperate choice.

Believe is the gateway to great treasures.

I wish I knew how to quit you.

Some plague the people with too long sermons for the faculty of listening is a tender thing and soon becomes weary and satiated.

But youth isn't happy. Youth is sadder than age.

Painting is consequently an almost blind, desperate effort, like that of a person abandoned, helpless, in totally incomprehensible surroundings.

I think no athlete wants to end his career on an injury.

I go once a year to the Serengeti to see the wildebeest migrations because that means a lot to me, but I avoid Olduvai if I can because it is a ruin. It is most depressing.

Government can do something for the people only in proportion as it can do something to the people.

The body learns through exaggeration and contrast

This cabin, Mary, in my sight appears, Built as it has been in our waning years, A rest afforded to our weary feet, Preliminary to - the last retreat.