There is somethingmystically sadand beautifulabouthowi will neversee youagainbut meet youagain and againin poetry.

Language is the mother, not the handmaiden, of thought; words will tell you things you never thought or felt before.

There are poets,there are philosophers, there are spiritualists and me. I try to foot the bill of these mighty three.

Battle for the sake of honor may be a fine thing for bards to sing of, but it is no way to preserve one's homeland

Saturated Arrogance...she rebuked those about herin darkness did she dwella pathetic historyall mortal man would tell..

A women's heart beat is very rapid; it jumps from love to hate, in seconds when in silence there is surely madness.

to be a poet meansto live with a permanent wound forever susceptibleto either the shade of the skyor someone's eyes.

Only the poet or the saint can water an asphalt pavement in the confident anticipation that lilies will reward his labour.

Behold yon rough and flinty roadWhere youth, now youth no more,Gropes whining, seeking crumbs of loavesHe cast away of yore.

can't even sleep through the night without you and those sun-dried ginger ale complected limbs crocheted into my thighs...

Although all days are equally long regardless of the season, some days are long not only seasonally but by rewards they offer.

We like to admit to only that which already glows, although it is nobler to support brightness before it glows, not afterwards.

Most people don't have real friends. You have people in your life waiting for opportunities to see what YOU can do for them.

Golf is a worrier's game, inward, concentrated, a matter of inches, invented by the same people who gave us Presbyterianism.

If the poets offered us nothing more than another make-believe world, they would be mere sellers of drugs or, at best, sweetmeats.