There Is A Grace Of Life Which

This Morning Of The Small Snow I Count The Blessings, The Leak In The Faucet Which Makes Of The Sink Time, The Drop Of The Water On Water.

I Don't Live For Poetry. I Live Far More Than Anybody Else Does.

I Was Playing Catch With The European Audience.

Is It Not The Play Of The Mind We Are After? Is It Not That That Shows A Mind Is There At All?

I Take Space To Be The Central Fact To Man Born In America. I Spell It Large Because It Comes Large Here. Large And Without Mercy.