Composition for me is, externally at least, scarcely distinguishable from catatonia. — Richard Wilbur
Whatever pains disease may bring Are but the tangy seasoning To Loves delicious fare. — Richard Wilbur
All that we do is touched with ocean, and yet we remain on the shore of what we know — Richard Wilbur
To this congress the poet speaks not of peculiar and personal things, but of what in himself — Richard Wilbur
It is true that the poet does not directly address his neighbors; but he does address a — Richard Wilbur