The perversion of the mind is only possible when those who should be heard in its defence are silent..

Wildness and silence disappeared from the countryside, sweetness fell from the air, not because anyone wished them to vanish or fall but because thro….

A poem should be wordless As the flight of birds..

See the world as it truly is, small and blue, beautiful in that eternal silence where it floats..

If the art of poetry is?the art of making sense of the chaos of human experience, it's not a bad thing to see a lot of chaos..

Around, around the sun we go: The moon goes round the earth. We do not die of death: We die of vertigo..

We have no choice but to be guilty. God is unthinkable if we are innocent..

Races didn't bother the Americans. They were something a lot better than any race. They were a People. They were the first self-constituted, self-dec….

The roots of the grass strain, Tighten, the earth is rigid, waits-he is waiting- And suddenly, and all at once, the rain!.

Poets... are literal-minded men who will squeeze a word till it hurts..

Piety's hard enough to take among the poor who have to practice it. A rich man's piety stinks. It's insufferable..

What is wrong is not the great discoveries of science—information is always better than ignorance, no matter what information or what ignorance. What….

A real writer learns from earlier writers the way a boy learns from an apple orchard -- by stealing what he has a taste for, and can carry off.

Children know the grace of god better than most of us. They see the world the way the morning brings it back to them; new and born and fresh and wond….

There is no dusk to be, There is no dawn that was, Only there's now, and now, And the wind in the grass..

Conventional wisdom notwithstanding, there is no reason either in football or in poetry why the two should not meet in a man's life if he has the wei….

The American journey has not ended. America is always still to build ... West is a country in the mind, and so eternal..

You burned the city of London in our houses and we felt the flames..

Love becomes the ultimate answer to the ultimate human question..

If the poem can be improved by the author's explanations, it never should have been published..

That peculiar disease of intellectuals, that infatuation with ideas at the expense of experience, that compels experience to conform to bookish expec….