"It's linkage I'm talking about, and harmonies and structures, And all the various things that lock our wrists to the past."
"How many years have slipped through our hands? At least as many as the constellations we still can identify. The quarter moon, like a light skiff, floats out of the mist-remnants Of last night’s hard rain. It, too, will slip through our fingers with no ripple, without us in it."
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Source: Charles Wright (2014). “Negative Blue: Selected Later Poems”, p.163, Macmillan
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"The music of memory has its own pitch,/which not everyone hears."
"It’s up there, and you can see the front of it. But what it is isn’t what you’re looking at. It’s behind what you’re looking at."
"How sweet the past is, no matter how wrong, or how sad. How sweet is yesterday's noise"
"We've all led raucous lives, some of them inside, some of them out. But only the poem you leave behind is what's important. Everyone knows this. The voyage into the interior is all that matters, Whatever your ride. Sometimes I can't sit still for all the asininities I read. Give me the hummingbird, who has to eat sixty times His own weight a day just to stay alive. Now that's a life on the edge."
"It may not be written in any book, but it is written - You can't go back, you can't repeat the unrepeatable."