These scars bear witness but whether to repair or to destruction I no longer know.

Pride is a tricky, glorious, double-edged feeling.

Poetry is the liquid voice that can wear through stone.

It will take all your heart, it will take all your breath It will be short, it will not be simple

I'd call it love if love didn't take so many years but lust too is a jewel.

Grief held back from the lips wears at the heart; the drop that refused to join the river dried up in the dust.

Any woman's death diminishes me.