Memories Hello, duck, in yellow cloth stuffed from inside…

I will go to the garden. I will be a romantic. I will sell myself in hell, in heaven also I will be.

— Robert Creeley

God give you pardon from gratitude and other mild forms of servitude.

— Robert Creeley

The Lady has always moved to the next town and you stumble on after Her.

— Robert Creeley

Moon, moon, when you leave me alone all the darkness is an utter blackness, a pit of fear, a stench, hands unreasonable never to…

— Robert Creeley

All of which was OK, as that proved then, I certainly wouldn't contradict it as a necessary sense of things.

— Robert Creeley

My love's manners in bed are not to be discussed by me

— Robert Creeley

That poetry survived in its formal agencies finally, and that prose survived to get something said.

— Robert Creeley

He lives out in Orchard Park. I mean, to be able to sit on the bench so patiently, for whatever part, and to be…

— Robert Creeley

“Thought is a process of work, joy is an issue of work”

— Robert Creeley

Comes the time when it's later and onto your table the headwaiter puts the bill

— Robert Creeley

It's the classic story form. All staying equal, or proving equal, or being equal, this will all continue, and the next time around, we'll…

— Robert Creeley

It is hard going to the door cut so small in the wall where the vision which echoes loneliness brings a scent of wild…

— Robert Creeley

For love - I would split open your head and put a candle in behind the eyes.

— Robert Creeley

The awful thing, as a kid reading, was that you came to the end of the story, and that was it. I mean, it…

— Robert Creeley

I don’t think any man writing can worry about what the act of writing costs him, even though at times he is very aware…

— Robert Creeley