Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
Beware of advice-even this.
The past is a bucket of ashes
There is no song to your singing.
The fog comes on little cat feet.
The people know what the land knows.
I am! I have come through! I belong!
The shovel is the brother to the gun.
Nothing happens... but first a dream.
God, let me remember all good losers.
Nothing happens unless first we dream.
Our lives are like a candle in the wind.
What if they gave a war and nobody came?
Time is a sandpile we run our fingers in.
I'm either going to be a writer or a bum.
Come on, you Do you want to live forever?
Men of ideas vanish when freedom vanishes.
To be a good loser is to learn how to win.
There is an eagle in me that wants to soar.
Poetry is a packsack of invisible keepsakes.
The greatest cunning is to have none at all.
Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
Now I am here - now read me - give me a name.
It is the business of little minds to shrink.
An expert is a damn fool a long way from home.
A baby is God's opinion that life should go on.
The drum in a dream pounds loud to the dreamer.
Poetry is a sky dark with a wild-duck migration.
Sometime they'll give a war and nobody will come.
If I added to their pride of America, I am happy.
The moon is a friend for the lonesome to talk to.
Hope is an echo, hope ties itself yonder, yonder.
Who am I, where have I been, and where am I going?
Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.
Time is a great teacher, Who can live without hope?
We live in the time of the colossal upright oblong.
I've written some poetry I don't understand myself.
Poetry is a kinetic arrangement of static syllables.
The secret of happiness is to admire without desiring.
I learned you can't trust the judgment of good friends.
Why does a hearse horse snicker, hauling a lawyer away?
Now is the time. It is never too late to start something.
After the sunset on the prairie, there are only the stars
Revolt and terror pay a price. Order and law have a cost.
I doubt if you can have a truly wild party without liquor.
I have written some poetry that I don't understand myself.
Newspapers tell beforehand what is going to happen - maybe.
The sea is always the same: and yet the sea always changes.
The dead hold in their hands only what they have given away.
What is there more of in the world than anything else? Ends.
I'll die propped up in bed trying to do a poem about America.