Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

Poetry, she thought, wasn't written to be analyzed; it was meant to inspire without reason, to touch without understanding.

Never cry because you have mountains of problem in your hands to solve. Always smile because each problems will someday resolve.

According to [Galway] Kinnell, to make a poem you need the creatures of the world, language, and the unconsious brought together.

Evil is not good's absence but gravity'severlasting bedrock and its fatal chainsinert, violent, the suffrage of our days.

I would like The Discovery of Poetry to be a field guide to the natural pleasures of language - a happiness we were born to have.

Painted desert, ocean of colorsun's worshiper, moon's loverpicture of a coyote's voicesandbox of angels, another toy.

Autumn DuskI saw above a sea of hillsA solitary planet shine,And there was no one, near or far,to keep the world from being mine.

I fain would follow love, if that could be; I needs must follow death, who calls for me; Call and I follow, I follow! let me die.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;Our meddling intellectMis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:—We murder to dissect.

I give you this to take with you:Nothing remains as it was. If you know this, you canbegin again, with pure joy in the uprooting.

A precious, mouldering pleasure ’t is To meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore; A privilege, I think.

We would rather be ruined than changedWe would rather die in our dreadThan climb the cross of the momentAnd let our illusions die.

One way poetry connects is across time. . . . Some echo of a writer's physical experience comes into us when we read her poem.

For TrishaThe truth's in myth not fact,a story fragment or an actthat lasts and stands for all:how bees made honey in a skull.