The impact of television on our culture is just indescribable.
The people know what the land knows.
I am still studying verbs and the mystery of how they connect nouns. I am more suspicious of adjectives than at any other time in all my born days.
The more rhymethere isin poetry the more dangerof its tricking the writer into something other than the urge in the beginning.
Under the summer roses When the flagrant crimson Lurks in the dusk Of the wild red leaves, Love, with little hands, Comes and touches you With a thousand memories, And asks you Beautiful, unanswerable questions.
I am the people the mob the crowd the mass. Do you know that all the great work of the world is done through me?
Drum on your drums, batter on your banjos, sob on the long cool winding saxophones. Go to it, O jazzmen.
The simple dignity of a child drinking a bowl of milk embodies the fascination of an ancient rite.
Poetry is a sequence of dots and dashes, spelling depths, crypts, cross-lights, and moon wisps.
I glory in this world of men and women, torn with troubles, yet living on to love and laugh through it all.
You know being born is important to you. You know nothing else was ever so important to you.
Whenever a people or an institution forget its hard beginnings, it is beginning to decay.
Newspapers tell beforehand what is going to happen – maybe.
Poetry is a diary kept by a sea creature who lives on land and wishes he could fly.
Men of ideas vanish when freedom vanishes.
The shovel is the brother to the gun.
The greatest cunning is to have none at all.
What is there more of in the world than anything else? Ends.
Freedom is baffling: men having it often know not they have it till it is gone and they no longer have it.
To never see a fool you lock yourself in your room and smash the looking-glass.