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An owl sound wandered along the road with me. I didn't hear it--I breathed it into my ears.
William Stafford
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William Stafford
Age: 79 †
Born: 1914
Born: January 17
Died: 1993
Died: August 28
Author
Poet
Writer
Hutchinson
Kansas
Didn
Wandered
Owl
Breathed
Ears
Road
Along
Hear
Sound
More quotes by William Stafford
You can lie at a banquet but you have to be honest in the kitchen.
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If you purify the pond, the lilies die
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It is as if the ordinary language we use every day has a hidden set of signals, a kind of secret code.
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Some people are blinded by their experience. Soldiers know how important war is. Owners of slaves learn every day how inferior subject peoples are.
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You shouldn't have standards that inhibit you from writing It really doesn't make any difference if you are good or bad today. The assessment of the product is something that happens after you've done it.
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You don't need many words if you already know what you're talking about
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What you have to do as a writer is . . . write day in and day out no matter what happens.
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Even the upper end of the river believes in the ocean.
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I have woven a parachute out of everything broken.
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People wander about what you are pursuing. You have to explain about the thread.
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The earth says have a place, be what that place requires hear the sound the birds imply and see as deep as ridges go behind each other.
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I heard a bird congratulating itself all day for being a jay. Nobody cared. But it was glad all over again, and said so, again.
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I'll be Pavlov, you be the dog.
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A speech is something you say so as to distract attention from what you do not say.
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Once we have tasted far streams, touched the gold, found some limit beyond the waterfall, a season changes and we come back changed but safe, quiet, grateful.
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A poem is a serious joke, a truth that has learned jujitsu.
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Language can do what it can’t say.
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Please think about this as you go on. Breathe on the world. Hold out your hands to it. When morning and evenings roll along, watch how they open and close, how they invite you to the long party that your life is.
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I keep following this sort of hidden river of my life, you know, whatever the topic or impulse which comes, I follow it along trustingly. And I don't have any sense of its coming to a kind of crescendo, or of its petering out either. It is just going steadily along.
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Kids: they dance before they learn there is anything that isn't music.
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