Poetry is the kind of thing you have to see from the corner of your eye. You can be too well prepared for poetry. A conscientious interest in it is worse than no interest at all. . . . It's like a very faint star. If you look straight at it you can't see it, but if you look a little to one side it is there. |
Security of character would be like a compass, you know? Other people may say that this way is north, or this way might be north. But the compass just says -- north. That's what we count on. |
Shelter in winter that day -- a storm coming, but in the lee of an island in a cover with friends -- oh, little bright cup of sun. |
Silence on a hill where the path ended and then the forest below moving in one long whisper as evening touched the leaves. |
So, the world happens twice --
once what we see it as; second it legends itself deep, the way it is. |
Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made. Ask me whether what I have done is my life. Others have come in their slow way into my thought, and some have tried to help or to hurt: ask me what difference their strongest love or hate has made. |
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. |
The ocean and I have many pebbles To find and wash off and roll into shape. |
The saddest are those not right in their lives
who are acting to make things right for others: they act only from the self -- and that self will never be right: no luck, no help, no wisdom. |
The saddest are those not right in their lives who are acting to make things right for others: they act only from the self -- and that self will never be right: no luck, no help, no wisdom. |
The world speaks everything to us.
It is our only friend. |
These words that occur to me come out of my relation to the language which is developing even as I am using it. |
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." |
They tell how it was, and how time
came along, and how it happened again and again. They tell the slant life takes when it turns and slashes your face as a friend. |
We are led one thing at a time to that pure gain -- all that we lose. |