One cannot simply decide to write apolitical poetry, in the way one decides to drink lemonade instead of tea, it's far more subliminal than that.

Poetry either pulses with real life or it's just an aborted simulacra. There's no middle ground.

Fear knows no borders, and the terminology of hate has seeped into every aspect of life.

Everyone wants to be open and inclusive, but nobody wants to pay for it. It's the biggest roadblock to translating living writers, especially poets.

I've heard of translators collaborating closely with their authors, sometimes even living with them for a while, but that's not me.

I can't quite see the point of poems like "Wittgenstein Goes for a Walk with A Hawk in Sherwood Forest." I know they're trying to be clever, but they're not.

I don't like poems that invent memories, I have enough of my own.

As Trevor Noah recently quipped, the US appears ready to crown its first African dictator: Donald Trump.

The average political poem - especially the kind that wears this label all too proudly - is both dull and full of brow-beating triteness.

Most of us have been subjected to terrible political poetry at least once or twice in our lifetimes, and so we tend to shy away from it.

When it comes to the challenges of the actual process, I soldier on as best I can, on my own.

Never settle up for something that is lesser than what you expected.

I plant a lot of trees. I am a great believer in planting things for future generations. I loathe the now culture where you just live for today.

Tom Kenny is a master of changing a pubic hair this way or that way, and sounding like a totally different character.

I think men are allowed to be fat and bald and ugly and women aren't. And it's just not - there is no equality there

If you have a lair then you are probably not a good person.

A sensation must have fallen very low to deign to turn into an idea.

Ethical dilemmas have a way of sneaking up on a person. If something smells funny, stay away from it. Or help get rid of it.

That which oppresses me, is it my soul trying to come out in the open, or the soul of the world knocking at my heart for entrance?

The crowds can be very loud, especially when you're playing in the evening.

Cause there was a time when all I did was wish You'd tell me this was love. It's not the way I hoped Or how I planned But somehow it's enough.