In poetry, you must love the words, the ideas and the images and rhythms with all your capacity to love anything at all.
The genuine artist is never ‘true to life.’ He sees what is real, but not as we are normally aware of it. We do not go storming through life like actors in a play. Art is never real life.
Nothing could be more inappropriate to American literature than its English source since the Americans are not British in sensibility.
If some really acute observer made as much of egotism as Freud has made of sex, people would forget a good deal about sex and find the explanation for everything in egotism.
The most beautiful thing in the world is, of course, the world itself.
The philosopher proves that the philosopher exists. The poet merely enjoys existence.
Everything is complicated; if that were not so, life and poetry and everything else would be a bore.
The fire burns as the novel taught it how.
A poet looks at the world the way a man looks at a woman.
What our eyes behold may well be the text of life but one’s meditations on the text and the disclosures of these meditations are no less a part of the structure of reality.