I don’t live for poetry. I live far more than anybody else does.

You can do anything, literally, right? That’s one of the exciting possibilities of the present.

Forgive me if I sleep until I wake up.

Fact is based upon vulgar matter.

We all want what’s been suddenly disallowed.

I remember way back when I was young, 10 years ago.

You can read everybody. It’s not even interesting to tell the truth because to some extent it’s false.

When will government cease being a nuisance to everybody?

I don’t live for poetry. I live far more than anybody else does.

This morning of the small snow I count the blessings, the leak in the faucet which makes of the sink time, the drop of the water on water.

I sound like Homer. I mean Winslow Homer.

I’m one of the cliches that has grown up.

The poem, for me, is simply the first sound realized in the modality of being.

I hope you’re representing the devil’s advocate.

I am happy to have some friends here in the kitchen.

I’m sorry, but I was born with a towel on my head.

I was playing catch with the European audience.

I’m trying to climb up both walls at once.

We’re all moving, moving, moving. Isn’t it nice?

The heroes of the present will retreat to the imitation they are anyhow.

You don’t help people in your poems. I’ve been trying to help people all my life – that’s my trouble.

I defer to all these other American poets who, for some reason, I both envy and admire.

Atlantis will rise again.

There is a grace of life which is still yours, my dear Europe.

This country has been unconscious, and it’s got to awake. That’s my belief.