“Howl” by Allen Ginsberg
“Persimmons” by Li-Young Lee
“Black Snake” by Mary Oliver
Keep your eye clear and hit ’em where they ain’t.
Poetry is a dream dreamed in the presence of reason.
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.
How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?
Poetry begins where certitude ends.
For me the initial delight is in the surprise of remembering something I didn’t know I already knew.
Let’s play two.
A work of art is never completed, merely abandoned.
There is only one plot: Things are not what they seem.
The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe.
Writing is easy. All you have to do is cross out the wrong words.
I like restraint—if doesn’t go too far.