I’m either going to be a writer or a bum.
Le poete est un animal marin qui vit sur terre et qui voudrait voler.
Have I, have you, been too silent? Is there an easy crime of silence?
Nearly all the best things that came to me in life have been unexpected, unplanned by me.
In these times you have to be an optimist to open your eyes when you awake in the morning.
Love your neighbor as yourself; but don’t take down the fence.
Nothing happens unless first we dream.
Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you.
Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
Every blunder behind us is giving a cheer for us, and only for those who were willing to fail are the dangers and splendors of life.
Slang is a language that rolls up its sleeves, spits on its hands and goes to work.
Who else speaks for the Family of Man? They are in tune and step with constellations of universal law.
Our lives are like a candle in the wind.
Poetry is a mystic, sensuous mathematics of fire, smoke-stacks, waffles, pansies, people, and purple sunsets.
I’m an idealist. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m on my way.
The single clenched fist lifted and ready, Or the open asking hand held out and waiting. Choose: For we meet by one or the other.