Artists Recognize Other Artists As Soon As

Religion Seems To Have Always Offered Us That False Duality ... The Silences Of Infinite Space Or The Cozy Comfort Of Inner Certainty.

The Life Of A Poet Lies Not Merely In The Finite Language-dance Of Expression But In The Nearly Infinite Combinations Of Perception And Memory Combined With The Sensitivity To What Is Perceived And Remembered.

How Could Anyone Stay Sane With Entire Lifetimes Stored In One Human Mind?

You Have To Live To Really Know Things, My Love

Belief In One's Identity As A Poet Or Writer Prior To The Acid Test Of Publication Is As Naive And Harmless As The Youthful Belief In One's Immortality... And The Inevitable Disillusionment Is Just As Painful.