The ambience here is order and beauty. That is what frightens me when I am first alone again. I feel inadequate. I have made an open place, a place for meditation. What if I cannot find myself inside it?
Women are at last becoming persons first and wives second, and that is as it should be.
In a total work, the failures have their not unimportant place.
Solitude is one thing and loneliness is another.
The beginner hugs his infant poem to him and does not want it to grow up. But you may have to break your poem to remake it.
I see a certain order in the universe and math is one way of making it visible.
I feel like an inadequate machine, a machine that breaks down at crucial moments, grinds to a dreadful hault, 'won't go,' or, even worse, explodes in some innocent person's face.
There were moments ... when it seemed that all one could be asked was just to keep the ashtrays clean, the bed made, the wastebaskets emptied, as if one never got to the real things because of the constant exhausting battle to keep ordinary life from falling apart.
Go rich in poverty. Go rich in poetry. This nothingness is plentitude.
There is only one real deprivation... and that is not to be able to give one's gifts to those one loves most.
Routine is not a prison, but the way into freedom from time.
May we agree that private life is irrelevant? Multiple, mixed, ambiguous at best - out of it we try to fashion the crystal clear, the singular, the absolute, and that is what is relevant; that is what matters.
Old age is not an illness, it is a timeless ascent. As power diminishes, we grow toward the light.
I sometimes imagine that as one grows older one comes to live a role which as a young person one merely 'played.
Human relations just are not fixed in their orbits like the planets -- they're more like galaxies, changing all the time, exploding into light for years, then dying away.
Do we always make our freedom out of someone else's bondage?
For after all we make our faces as we go along.
People are always talking about the joys of youth-but, oh, how youth can suffer!
Though friendship is not quick to burn it is explosive stuff.
It's extraordinary how little two people can understand each other and how cruel two people who are fond of each other can be to each other - there is practically no cruelty so awful because their power to hurt is so great.
Real joy is becoming exceedingly rare among artists of any kind. And I have an idea that those who can and do communicate it are always people who have had a hard time. Then the joy has no smugness or self-righteousness in it, is inclusive not exclusive, and comes close to prayer.
The hardest thing we are asked to do in this world is to remain aware of suffering, suffering about which we can do nothing.
Fighting dragons is my holy joy.
Miracles cannot be explained, that is their miraculous nature.
I know you have much to bear with in me, and I really do sometimes in you, but I have never looked at friendship in a deep sense as easy or entirely comfortable.
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