The blogosphere rewards no-holds-barred smartassery.
Academia is a graveyard of poets.
I've read all the books but one Only remains sacred: this Volume of wonders, open Always before my eyes.
Meanings, moods, the whole scale of our inner experience, finds in nature the 'correspondences' through which we may know our boundless selves.
Poetry is not an end in itself but in the service of life; of what use are poems, or any other works of art, unless to enable human lives to be lived with insight of a deeper kind, with more sensitive feelings, more intense sense of the beautiful, with deeper understanding?
. . . the poem reminds us of what we ourselves know, but did not know we knew; reminds us, above all, of what we are.
Intent on one great love, perfect, Requited and for ever, I missed love's everywhere Small presence, thousand-guised.
A good catcher is the quarterback, the carburetor, the lead dog, the pulse taker, the traffic cop and sometimes a lot of unprintable things, but no team gets very far without one.
Maybe what I do isn't going to be acknowledged by people, but that's me. It's my nature to do things that are weirder and less understood and that was a path I needed to take
We come here with no peaceful intent, but ready for battle, determined to avenge our wrongs and set our country free.
I've done a lot of talk shows where you can tell that the host is just thinking about what he wants to say next while you're answering him and that's really uncomfortable.