Writing is?waiting for the word that may not be there until next Tuesday. — Richard Wilbur Copy Share
Your hands hold roses always in a way that says They are not only yours; the beautiful changes In such kind ways, Wishing ever… — Richard Wilbur Copy Share
Oh, let there be nothing on earth but laundry, Nothing but rosy hands in the rising steam And clear dances done in the sight… — Richard Wilbur Copy Share
“the beautiful changes In such kind ways, Wishing ever to sunder Things and things’ selves for a second finding, to lose For a moment… — Richard Wilbur Copy Share
Writing poetry is talking to oneself; yet it is a mode of talking to oneself in which the self disappears; and the product's something… — Richard Wilbur Copy Share
We know what boredom is: it is a dull Impatience or a fierce velleity, A champing wish, stalled by our lassitude, To make or… — Richard Wilbur Copy Share
That's the main business of the poem!-to see if you can't make up a language that sets all your selves talking at once-all of… — Richard Wilbur Copy Share
What is our praise or pride but to imagine excellence and try to make it? What does it say over the door of heaven;… — Richard Wilbur Copy Share
It is true that the poet does not directly address his neighbors; but he does address a great congress of persons who dwell at… — Richard Wilbur Copy Share
Step off assuredly into the blank of your mind. Something will come to you. — Richard Wilbur Copy Share
Composition for me is, externally at least, scarcely distinguishable from catatonia. — Richard Wilbur Copy Share
I would feel dead if I didn't have the ability periodically to put my world in order with a poem. I think to be… — Richard Wilbur Copy Share
“During my lunch hour, which I spent on a bench in a nearby park, the waitresses would come and sit beside me talking at… — Richard Wilbur Copy Share
