Without anxiety life would have very little savor.
Do I think there's life after death? No, I think my books are my life after death.
I cannot understand why poetry is not taught at schools as a way of seeing, a quick, untiring path to essentials.
In the novel or the journal you get the journey. In a poem you get the arrival.
It is always hard to hear the buried truth from another person.
I long for the bulbs to arrive, for the early autumn chores are melancholy, but the planting of bulbs is the work of hope and is always thrilling.
I can tell you that solitude Is not all exaltation, inner space Where the soul breathes and work can be done. Solitude exposes the nerve, Raises up ghosts. The past, never at rest, flows through it.
have the courage to write whatever your dream is for yourself.
Light is snow sifted / To an abstraction.
The more articulate one is, the more dangerous words become.
I suppose one has to remember that 'life' is important too, though it's something I forget in some moods, everything except work seeming like an interruption or really non-life.
A body without bones would be a limp impossible mess, so a day without steady routine would be disruptive and chaotic.
I simply adore being alone - I find it a consuming thirst - and when that thirst is slaked, then I am happy.
“How does one grow up?” I asked a friend the other day. There was a slight pause; then she answered, “By thinking.”
In poetry compromise is fatal. In action of any cooperative sort it is inevitable. The thing is to find the balance.
we are never done with thinking about our parents, I suppose, and come to know them better long after they are dead than we ever did when they were alive.
Don't forget that compared to a grownup person every baby is a genius. Think of the capacity to learn! The freshness, the temperament, the will of a baby a few months old!
And I refuse to feel guilty about not letter-writing either. There are times when one can, times when one can't. In the times when an enormous amount of living is going on, one can't.
Don't forget that compared to a grownup person every baby is a genius.
One of the springs of poetry is joy.
The body is a universe in itself and must be held as sacred as anything in creation....It is dangerous to forget the body as sacramental.
... the reason why there are so few first-class poets is that many people have intense feelings or first-class minds but to get the two together so that you will be willing to put a poem through sixty drafts, to be that self-critical, to keep breaking it down, that is what is rare. Right now most poetry is just self-indulgence.
We are able to laugh when we achieve detachment, if only for a moment.
I have written every poem, every novel, for the same purpose-to find out what I think, to know where I stand.
... love is healing, even rootless love.
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