And he remembered thinking then that if she died, he was certain he wouldn't cry. For it would be the dying face of an unknown, a street face, a news….

I'm not really dying today. No person ever died that had a family. I'll be around a long time. A thousand years from now, a whole township of my offs….

We all are rich and ignore the buried fact of accumulated wisdom..

A life's work should be based on love..

I'll be damned if death wears my sadness for glad rags..

The sun burnt every day. It burnt time..

A single face turned upward toward all Time One flesh, one ecstasy, one peace..

The best scientist is open to experience and begins with romance - the idea that anything is possible..

Lone at night, when I was twelve years old, I looked at the planet Mars and I said, 'Take me home!' And the planet Mars took me home, and I never cam….

You're not like the others. I've seen a few; I know. When I talk, you look at me. When I said something about the moon, you looked at the moon, last ….

The most dangerous thing you can do is know who you are..

I don't believe in being serious about anything. I think life is too serious to be taken seriously..

Joy is the grace we say to God..

Poetry expands the senses and keeps them in prime condition. It keeps you aware of your nose, your eye, your ear, your tongue, your hand..

Heaven is a house with porch lights..

Write 1000 words a day. That's only about four pages, but force yourself to do it. Put your finger down your throat and throw up. That's what writing….

A good night sleep, or a ten minute bawl, or a pint of chocolate ice cream, or all three together, is good medicine..

He felt his smile slide away, melt, fold over and down on itself like a tallow skin, like the stuff of a fantastic candle burning too long and now co….

You can’t learn to write in college. It’s a very bad place for writers because the teachers always think they know more than you do-and they don’t. T….

And there, row upon row, with the soft gleam of flowers opened at morning, with the light of this June sun glowing through a faint skin of dust, woul….

And they were all, when their souls grew warm, poets..