I Do Think The Author Ought To

A Poet Is Someone Who Stands Outside In The Rain Hoping To Be Struck By Lightning.

I Do Think The Author Ought To Be Able To Give A Good Reason For The Way Things Are In His Poem. Not A Bad Question To Ask Oneself.

I Once Had The Nerve To Ask Picasso The Question, 'what Is Art?' He Answered, 'art Is A Lie Which Makes Us See The Truth.

Find Out What You Do Best, And Then Don't Do It.

What A View, I Said Again. The River Was Blank And Mindless With Beauty. It Was The Most Glorious Thing I Have Ever Seen. But It Was Not Seeing, Really. For Once It Was Not Just Seeing. It Was Beholding. I Beheld The River In Its Icy Pit Of Brightness, In Its Far-below Sound And Indifference, In Its Large Coil And Tiny Points And Flashes Of The Moon, In Its Long Sinuous Form, In Its Uncomprehending Consequence.