I keep following this sort of hidden river of my life, you know, whatever the topic or impulse which comes, I follow it along trustingly. And I don't have any sense of its coming to a kind of crescendo, or of its petering out either. It is just going steadily along.
Language can do what it can’t say.
The greatest ownership of all is to glance around and understand.
Keep a journal, and don't assume that your work has to accomplish anything worthy: artists and peace-workers are in it for the long haul, and not to be judged by immediate results.
It is this impulse to change the quality of experience that I recognize as central to creation. . . . Out of all that could be done, you choose one thing. What that one thing is, nothing else can tell you--you come at it over unmarked snow.
You can treat experience as a set of surprises on which to exercise your quirky self.
The root and the flower have to trust each other. If the root does not trust, the plant won't blossom.
...What you fear will not go away; it will take you into yourself and bless you and keep you. That's the world, and we all live there.
The earth says have a place, be what that place requires; hear the sound the birds imply and see as deep as ridges go behind each other.
All still when summer is over stand shocks in the field, nothing left to whisper, not even good-bye, to the wind. After summer was over we knew winter would come: we knew silence would wait, tall, patient calm.
A speech is something you say so as to distract attention from what you do not say.
My question is "when did other people give up the idea of being a poet?" You know, when we are kids we make up things, we write, and for me the puzzle is not that some people are still writing, the real question is why did the other people stop?
It's love,' they say. You touch the right one and a whole half of the universe wakes up, a new half.
Will you ever bring a better gift for the world than the breathing respect that you carry wherever you go right now?
You can lie at a banquet but you have to be honest in the kitchen.
The signals we give-yes or no, or maybe-/should be clear/the darkness around us is deep.
Literature is not a picture of life, but is a separate experience with its own kind of flow and enhancement.
It is as if the ordinary language we use every day has a hidden set of signals, a kind of secret code.
If you can say it, it begins to exist.
The more you let yourself be distracted from where you are going, the more you are the person that you are. It's not so much like getting lost as it is like getting found.
When the snake decided to go straight, he didn't get anywhere.
They miss the whisper that runs any day in your mind, "Who are you really, wanderer?"-- and the answer you have to give no matter how dark and cold the world around you is: "Maybe I'm a king.
Once you decide to do right, life is easy, there are no distractions.
When you allow me to live with you, every glance at the world around you will be a sort of salvation.
A poem is a serious joke, a truth that has learned jujitsu.
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