The ear writes my poems, not the mind.

The universe is a continuous web. Touch it at any point and the whole web quivers.

I can hardly wait for tomorrow, it means a new life for me each and every day.

Be what you are. Give What is yours to give. Have Style. Dare.

We have to learn how to live with our frailties. The best people I know are inadequate and unashamed.

The poem comes in the form of a blessing, like rapture breaking on the mind.

You must be careful not to deprive the poem of its wild origin.

I have walked through many lives, some of them my own, and I am not who I was, though some principle of being abides, from which I struggle not to stray.

What makes the engine go? Desire, desire, desire.

The poem in the head is always perfect. Resistance begins when you try to convert it into language.

Deftly they opened the brain of a child, and it was full of flying dreams.

I cannot sleep unless I am surrounded by books.

As someone who grew up in the Bronx, I certainly learned my share of four-letter words, but none are more powerful than nice.

Something I really hate more than anything else is clogs.

I have no want or desire to solo. I'd rather create melodies and accompanying parts.

The price of peace is eternal vigilance

The focus of subjectivity is a distorting mirror.

I wish to become rich, so that I can instruct the people and glorify honest poverty a little, like those kind hearted, fat, benevolent people do.

Do not admire the warriors; do not admire the fighters; condemn the fist! Get rid of this low culture of wildness! Admire the nonviolent; applaud the peaceful; despise the brute force!

When your ego is no more, only then will you know who you are.

And as it is the most generous souls who have most gratitude, it is those who have most pride, and who are most base and infirm, who most allow themselves to be carried away by anger and hatred.