“The answer must be, I think, that beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them. The least we can do is try to be there.”

We have not yet encountered any god who is as merciful as a man who flicks a beetle over on its feet.

One of the few things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time…give it, give it all, give it now.

People love pretty much the same things best. A writer looking for subjects inquires not after what he loves best, but after what he alone loves at all.

I would like to learn, or remember, how to live.

The universe was not made in jest but in solemn incomprehensible earnest.

You can’t test courage cautiously.

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days.

The real and proper question is: why is it beautiful

It has always been a happy thought to me that the creek runs on all night, new every minute, whether I wish it or know it or care, as a closed book on a shelf continues to whisper to itself its own inexhaustible tale.

Books swept me away, this way and that, one after the other; I made endless vows according to their lights for I believed them.

The dedicated life is worth living. You must give with your whole heart.

We are most deeply asleep at the switch when we fancy we control any switches at all.

The sea pronounces something, over and over, in a hoarse whisper; I cannot quite make it out.

Adverbs are a sign that you’ve used the wrong verb.

You can serve or you can sing, and wreck your heart in prayer, working the world’s hard work.

We live in all we seek.

Meditation and prayer have withstood the test of time. They work today as perfectly as they did for those who first practised and perfected them.

It was the grander French one: Why not kill yourself tonight? That the answers come to much the same thing in the end-easy does it

One of the reasons I’ve felt so connected to poetry throughout the years is because it’s the only art form that has breath built into it. And I need that breath now. I need that breath so much. So, yes, it is a refuge for me. Absolutely.

It is better to know some of the questions than all of the answers.

A lot of the questions that anyone would naturally have about their family, you’ll get much of the answers for, or at least hints to where it will go, in the future.

Poems have always been a place for questions for me. Not answers. And I have a lot of questions these days.

The answers are questions in disguise, every new answer giving rise to new questions.

It is not enough for me to ask question; I want to know how to answer the one question that seems to encompass everything I face: What am I here for?