The World Is Beautiful But Not Sayable.

To Submit To Chance Is To Reveal The Self And Its Obsessions.

The Stone Is A Mirror Which Works Poorly. Nothing In It But Dimness. Your Dimness Or Its Dimness, Who's To Say? In The Hush Your Heart Sounds Like A Black Cricket.

We Name One Thing And Then Another. That’s How Time Enters Poetry. Space, On The Other Hand, Comes Into Being Through The Attention We Pay To Each Word. The More Intense Our Attention, The More Space, And There’s A Lot Of Space Inside Words.

The Highest Levels Of Consciousness Are Wordless.

In Their Effort To Divorce Language And Experience, Deconstructionist Critics Remind Me Of Middle-class Parents Who Do Not Allow Their Children To Play In The Street.