Sweet death, small son, our instrument Of immortality, Your cries and hungers document Our bodily decay.

We learned how to love each other by loving together good things wholly outside each other.

Mere literary talent is common; what is rare is endurance, the continuing desire to work hard at writing.

Baseball is continuous, like nothing else among American things, an endless game of repeated summers, joining the long generations of all the fathers and all the sons.

If work is no antidote to death, nor a denial of it, death is a powerful stimulus to work. Get done what you can.

Great literature, if we read it well, opens us up to the world and makes us more sensitive to it, as if we acquired eyes that could see through things and ears that could hear smaller sounds.

Baseball is fathers and sons. Football is brothers beating each other up in the backyard.

Baseball, because of its continuity over the space of America and the time of America, is a place where memory gathers.

You think that their dying is the worst thing that could happen. Then they stay dead.

If the poet wants to be a poet, the poet must force the poet to revise. If the poet doesn't wish to revise, let the poet abandon poetry and take up stamp-collecting or real estate.

To desire to write poems that endure-we undertake such a goal certain of two things: that in all likelihood we will fail, and if we succeed we will never know it

God predetermines the pathways.

Its really amazing when someone need your help in there life and you help them from your heart

Don’t compromise your focus by comparing what you are trying to learn to what you already know. Focus in the moment, on what you are trying to learn now.

The sadness inherent in any memory comes from the fact that its object is forgetting.

You don't have as much time as you think you do. You got to operate like there's a sense of urgency!

Happy or Unhappy, families are all mysterious.

Well, the biggest rival I had in my career was me.

If we don't believe in the Devil, we won't be able to recognize him when he suddenly shows up.

Luck is not the hand of God.... Luck is the way the wind swirls and the dust settles eons after God has passed by.

They always want me to play myself and that's a big snooze.