Poetry Is A Search For

Arithmetic Is Where The Answer Is Right And Everything Is Nice And You Can Look Out Of The Window And See The Blue Sky - Or The Answer Is Wrong And You Have To Start Over And Try Again And See How It Comes Out This Time.

All My Life I Have Been Trying To Learn, To Read, To See And Hear, And To Write. At Sixty-five I Began My First Novel And After The Five Years, Lacking A Month, I Took To Finish It, I Was Still Traveling, Still A Seeker.

Nothing Happens Unless First We Dream.

Under The Summer Roses When The Flagrant Crimson Lurks In The Dusk Of The Wild Red Leaves, Love, With Little Hands, Comes And Touches You With A Thousand Memories, And Asks You Beautiful, Unanswerable Questions.

It Is Necessary ... For A Man To Go Away By Himself ... To Sit On A Rock ... And Ask, 'who Am I, Where Have I Been, And Where Am I Going?