Poetry Is A Man Arguing With Himself;

My First Book Was Published When I Was Thirty-two, So I Think It Was Basically Finished When I Was Thirty Or Thirty-one. And So Then You Think, "well, What Have You Failed To Do?" And My Answer To Myself Was Almost Everything.

A Movement Got Started For Common Schools, And By The End Of The 19th Century, 91 Percent Of Americans Could Read And Write.

Golf Is A Worrier's Game, Inward, Concentrated, A Matter Of Inches, Invented By The Same People Who Gave Us Presbyterianism.

In California In The Early Spring, There Are Pale Yellow Mornings, When The Mist Burns Slowly Into Day, The Air Stings Like Autumn, Clarifies Like Pain - Well, I Have Dreamed This Coast Myself.

Such Tenderness, Those Afternoons And Evenings, Saying Blackberry, Blackberry, Blackberry.