Great poetry is always written by somebody straining to go beyond what he can do.

Religion stands, the Church blocking the sun.

There is a certain justice in criticism. The critic is like a midwife - a tyrannical midwife.

When you read and understand a poem, comprehending its rich and formal meanings, then you master chaos a little.

When a child, my dreams rode on your wishes, I was your son, high on your horse, My mind a top whipped by the lashes Of your rhetoric, windy of course.