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