It Is My Heart That's Late, It

Certainly The Modern Poets I Cherish Most Are Disturbing Spirits; They Do Not Come To Coo.

I Like An Ending That's Both A Door And A Window.

One Critic Wrote . . . That My Poems Sounded As Though They Had Been Translated From The Hungarian. I Don't Know Why, But Somehow That Made Me Feel Quite Lighthearted.

The Unconscious Creates, The Ego Edits.

A Poet Needs To Keep His Wilderness Alive Inside Him.