The suffering itself is not so bad; it’s the resentment against suffering that is the real pain.
Which way will the sunflower turn surrounded by millions of suns?
The real America that Whitman proclaimed and Thoreau decoded.
First thoughts are the strongest.
You can’t escape the past in Paris, and yet what’s so wonderful about it is that the past and present intermingle so intangibly that it doesn’t seem to burden.
You too must seek the sun...
Fortunately art is a community effort – a small but select community living in a spiritualized world endeavoring to interpret the wars and the solitudes of the flesh.
Whoever controls the media, the images, controls the culture.
Sometime I’ll lay down my wrath, As I lay my body down Between the ache of breath and breath, Golden slumber in the bone.
Candor disarms paranoia.
First thought, best thought.
Be careful, you are not in Wonderland. I’ve heard the strange madness long growing in your soul. But you are fortunate in your ignorance, in your isolation. You who have suffered, find where love hides. Give, share, lose – lest we die, unbloomed.
I really believe, or want to believe, really I am nuts, otherwise I’ll never be sane.
There is nothing to be learned from history anymore. We’re in science fiction now.
Democracy! Bah! When I hear that I reach for my feather boa!
America, why are your libraries full of tears?
The only thing that can save the world is the reclaiming of the awareness of the world. That’s what poetry does.
I never dreamed the sea so deep, The earth so dark; so long my sleep, I have become another child. I wake to see the world go wild.
We love to be hurt and we love to have our unhealing wounds opened and reopened again: we sit staring in the mirror of art, fascinated by our own deformities.
Poetry is the one place where people can speak their original human mind. It is the outlet for people to say in public what is known in private.