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