No sword Of wrath her right arm whirl'd,But one poor poet's scroll, and with his word She shook the world.

Hearing a crow with no mouthCry in the deepDarkness of the night,I feel a longing forMy father before he was born.

Our friends through cables and computer screens are as real as the light and sound waves we alter through thought.

ink marks the page/where you execute your will like a doe announcing an/ox-stern mate with a single, bleary blink.

Though I play at the edges of knowing, truly I know our part is not knowing, but looking, and touching, and loving

EpitaphDen Tigern ertrann ichDie Wanzen nährte ichAufgefressen wurde ichVon den Mittelmäßigkeiten.

We must experience certain things in life, even in our childhood, so we can later look back and value the journey.

the stars began to burnthrough the sheets of clouds,and there was a new voicewhich you slowlyrecognized as your own

...always-the sharp,plaintive edgeon the rimof the spoonof my giving.(lines 8-13 of the poem 'Confessions')

It is difficult to write a paradiso when all the superficial indications are that you ought to write an apocalypse.

If my poetry aims to achieve anything, it's to deliver people from the limited ways in which they see and feel.

It's better to swim in the sea belowThan to swing in the air and feed the crow,Says jolly Ned Teach of Bristol.

All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling. To be natural is to be obvious, and to be obvious is to be inartistic.

It's not what you go through that makes you strong: it is how you handle the situation that gives you strength.

Me too thy nobleness has taughtTo master my despair;The fountains of my hidden lifeAre through thy friendship fair.