The climate of our culture is changing. Under these new rains, new suns, small things grow great, and what was great grows small; whole species disap… - Randall Jarrell

When you’re young you try to be methodical and philosophical, but reality keeps breaking in.

When you begin to read a poem you are entering a foreign country whose laws and language and life are a kind of translation of your own; but to accept it because its stews taste exactly like your old mother’s hash, or to reject it because the owl-headed goddess of wisdom in its temple is fatter than the Statrue of Liberty, is an equal mark of that want of imagination, that inaccessibily to experience, of which each of us who dies a natural death will die.

The nurse is the night To wake to, to die in: and the day I live, The world and its life are her dreams.