“Howl” by Allen Ginsberg
“Persimmons” by Li-Young Lee
“Black Snake” by Mary Oliver
In the midst of our happiness we were very pleased.
The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe.
Poetry begins where certitude ends.
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.
A work of art is never completed, merely abandoned.
For me the initial delight is in the surprise of remembering something I didn’t know I already knew.
Writing is easy. All you have to do is cross out the wrong words.
The art of running the mile consists, in essence, of reaching the threshold of consciousness at the instant of breasting the tape.
I like restraint—if doesn’t go too far.
Poetry is a dream dreamed in the presence of reason.
Let’s play two.
Keep your eye clear and hit ’em where they ain’t.