you're rowing by wordlight

Only truthful hands write true poems. I cannot see any basic difference between a handshake and a poem.

Only one thing remained reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language. Yes, language. In spite of everything, it remained secure against loss.

A nothing we were, are, shall remain, flowering: the nothing--, the no one's rose.

Reality is not simply there, it does not simply exist: it must be sought out and won.

Poetry is a sort of homecoming.

The poem is lonely. It is lonely and en route. Its author stays with it. Does this very fact not place the poem already here, at its inception, in the encounter, in the mystery of encounter?

Don't sign your name between worlds, surmount the manifold of meanings, trust the tearstain, learn to live.

There's nothing in the world for which a poet will give up writing, not even he is a Jew and the language of his poems is German.

We are told that when Hölderlin went 'mad,' he constantly repeated, 'Nothing is happening to me, nothing is happening to me.'

German poetry is going in a very different direction from French poetry.... Its language has become more sober, more factual. It distrusts "beauty." It tries to be truthful.

You can imprison a man but not an idea. You can exile a man but not an idea. You can kill a man but not an idea.

The living have their eyes opened by closing the eyes of the dead.

They had the same fears that you have, the same aggressive tendencies and the same attachments, but they were freed in time because they believed.

I just think things should work properly.

Reading wasn't my religion - it was my oxygen.

I see you have wavey hair....its waveing goodbye!

Put on the company hat. (Be willing to accept actions that may have a negative impact upon a particular component but are in the best interests of the company as a whole.)

I went drinking with Gray Powell and all I got was a lousy iPhone prototype.

She can't possibly be me, though she moves when I move