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Writing, I crushed an insect with my nail
And thought nothing at all. A bit of wing
Caught my eye then, a gossamer so frail And exquisite, I saw in it a thing
That scorned the grossness of the thing I wrote.
It hung upon my finger like a sting.

— Karl Shapiro

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More quotes by Karl Shapiro

The public has an unusual relationship to the poet: It doesn't even know that he is there.

As a third generation American I grew up with the obsessive idea of personal liberty which engrosses all Americans except the oldest and richest families.

The Poems of a Jew (1958)

Whitman to me is the most fascinating of American poets.

Paris Review interview (1986)

The poet is in exile whether he is or he is not.

Paris Review interview (1986)

I feel that after working a long time, I’ve really learned how to do what I do. I enjoy it.

Paris Review interview (1986)

All Karl Shapiro quotes →

Attribution

Quote text and notes from Wikiquote: Karl Shapiro (page history), available under CC BY-SA 4.0. Source quality and labels are our own summary of what Wikiquote records.