Poetry Is Language Surprised In

When They Shall Paint Our Sockets Gray And Light Us Like A Stinking Fuse, Remember That We Once Could Say, Yesterday We Had A World To Lose.

The Poem In The Head Is Always Perfect. Resistance Begins When You Try To Convert It Into Language.

The Supreme Morality Of Art Is To Endure.

One Critic Wrote . . . That My Poems Sounded As Though They Had Been Translated From The Hungarian. I Don't Know Why, But Somehow That Made Me Feel Quite Lighthearted.

Forward My Mail To Mars.