It is necessary to study these words you have written, for the words have a longer history than you have and say more than you know.

The self is no mystery, the mystery is / That there is something for us to stand on

Those who are not very concerned with art want poems or pictures to record for them something they already know - as one might want a picture of a place he loves.

Clarity, clarity, surely clarity is the most beautiful thing in the world, A limited, limiting clarity I have not and never did have any motive of poetry But to achieve clarity.

The meaning of a poem is in the cadences and the shape of the lines and the pulse of the thought which is given by those lines.

Things explain each other, not themselves.

There are situations which cannot honorably be met by art.

The first question at that time in poetry was simply the question of honesty, of sincerity.

A pure mathematical series would be one in which each term is derived from the preceding term by a rule.

[It is not] the poet's business to use verse as an advanced form of rhetoric, nor to give to political statements the aura of eternal truth.

I don't feel strong anymoreI feel like falling to my knees.Things aren't the way they were before, They're not the way they're supposed to be.

En las ligeras todas las cosas son visible, pero en la oscuridad, muchas cosas son imaginable.Translated: In the light all things are visible, but in the dark many things are imaginable.

The cycle of life is death, decomposition and regeneration, and a person who wants to stop killing animals is actually anti-life because it's only in death that life can be regenerated.

My dad became a soap opera actor, and I was an extra in a skating rink scene on the soap. I didn't audition. It was nepotism all the way.

With the Catching Ends the Pleasure of the Chase.

World's use is cold, world's love is vain, world's cruelty is bitter bane; but is not the fruit of pain.

I cannot kill him, she muttered to herself. I cannot kill him. I promised Bianka I'd stop at ten bodies a day, and I've already surpassed my quota for the fifth day in a row. I cannot kill him.

The winter's frost must rend the burr of the nut before the fruit is seen. So adversity tempers the human heart, to discover its real worth.

Babies, babies, babies. Why did God make so many babies? But no, God didn't make them. Stupid people made them.

Let there be more corn and more meat and let there be no hydrogen bombs at all.