The Initial Mystery that attends any journey is: how did the traveler reach his starting point in the first place?
I cannot believe that the inscrutable universe turns on an axis of suffering; surely the strange beauty of the world must somewhere rest on pure joy!
Perhaps this very instant is your time.
It is through the acceptance of a variety of aethetic and intellectual points of view that a culture is given breadth and density.
Poetry is often generations in advance of the thought of its time.
Stupidity always accompanies evil. Or evil, stupidity.
Up from the bronze, I saw Water without a flaw Rush to its rest in air Reach to its rest, and fall.
The poem is always the last resort. In it the poet makes a world in little, and finds peace, even though, under complete focused emotion, the evocation be far more bitter than reality, or far more lovely.
Your work is carved out of agony as a statue is carved out of marble.
True revolutions in art restore more than they destroy.