Quotes from John Ashbery

All things seem mention of themselves And the names which stem from them branch out to other referents. Hugely, spring exists again.

And hiding from darkness in barns They can be grownups now And the murderer's ash tray is more easily-- The lake a lilac cube.

The promise of learning is a delusion.... Tomorrow would alter the sense of what had already been learned, that the learning process is extended in this way, so that from this standpoint none of us ever graduates from college, for time is an emulsion, and probably thinking not to grow up is the brightest kind of maturity for us, right now at any rate.

I am often asked why I write, and I don't know really--I just want to.

What is the past, what is it all for? A mental sandwich?

The mind Is so hospitable, taking in everything Like boarders, and you don't see until It's all over how little there was to learn Once the stench of knowledge has dissipated.

In the beginning there are those who don't quite fit in But are somehow okay. And then some morning There are places that suddenly seem wonderful: Weather and water seem wonderful, And the peaceful night sky that arrives In time to protect us, like a sword Cutting the blue cloak of a prince.

And so we turn the page over To think of starting. This is all there is.

Once a happy old man One can never change the core of things, and light burns you the harder for it.

The facts of history have been too well rehearsed.

Heh? Eh? Our youth is dead. From the minute we discover it with eyes closed Advancing into mountain light. Ouch.

Paris is "the city," isn't it, and I am a lover of cities. It can be experienced much more pleasantly and conveniently than any other city I know. It's so easy to get around on the metro, and so interesting when you get there--each arrondissement is like a separate province, with its own capital and customs and even costumes.

We might realize that the present moment may be one of an eternal or sempiternal series of moments, all of which will resemble it because, in some ways, they are the present, and won't in other ways, because the present will be the past by that time.

I would like to please the reader, and I think that surprise has to be an element of this, and that may necessitate a certain amount of teasing. To shock the reader is something else again. That has to be handled with great care if you're not going to alienate and hurt him, and I'm firmly against that, just as I disapprove of people who dress with that in mind--dye their hair blue and stick safety pins through their noses and so on.

And sudden day unbuttoned her blouse.

One can lose a good idea by not writing it down, yet by losing it one can have it: it nourishes other asides it knows nothing of, would not recognize itself in, yet when the negotiations are terminated, speaks in the acts of that progenitor, and does recognize itself, is grateful for not having done so earlier.

Did I say that? One says so many things, and the problem is they all get written down.

Just keep playing, mastering as you do the step Into disorder this one meant. Don't you see It's all we can do? Meanwhile, great fires Arise, as of haystacks aflame. The dial has been set And that's ominous, but all your graciousness in living Conspires with it, now that this is our home: A place to be from, and have people ask about.

Well, there are certain stock words that I have found myself using a great deal. When I become aware of them, it is an alarm signal meaning I am falling back on something that has served in the past--it is a sign of not thinking at the present moment, not that there is anything intrinsically bad about certain words or phrases.

How funny your name would be if you could follow it back to where the first person thought of saying it, naming himself that, or maybe some other persons thought of it and named that person. It would be like following a river to its source, which would be impossible. Rivers have no source.

The seasons are no longer what they once were,But it is the nature of things to be seen only once,As they happen along, bumping into other things, getting alongSomehow. That's where Orpheus made his mistake.

For this is action, this not being sure, this carelessPreparing, sowing the seeds crooked in the furrow,Making ready to forget, and always coming backTo the mooring of starting out, that day so long ago.

Something like living occurs, a movementOut of the dream into its codification.

The poem is sad because it wants to be yours, and cannot be.