There Are Poets And There Are Grownups.

The Speed Of A Runaway Horse Counts For Nothing.

The Poet Doesn't Invent. He Listens.

When A Work Appears To Be Ahead Of Its Time, It Is Only The Time That Is Behind The Work.

The Poet Never Asks For Admiration; He Wants To Be Believed.

My Method Is Simple: Not To Bother About Poetry. It Must Come Of Its Own Accord. Merely Whispering Its Name Drives It Away.