Poetry is a dream dreamed in the presence of reason.
The art of running the mile consists, in essence, of reaching the threshold of consciousness at the instant of breasting the tape.
Keep your eye clear and hit ’em where they ain’t.
For me the initial delight is in the surprise of remembering something I didn’t know I already knew.
I like restraint—if doesn’t go too far.
There is only one plot: Things are not what they seem.
Poetry begins where certitude ends.
Writing is easy. All you have to do is cross out the wrong words.
A work of art is never completed, merely abandoned.
Let’s play two.
In the midst of our happiness we were very pleased.
How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?
The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe.