The world has been forced to its knees. Unhappily, we seldom find our way there without being beaten to it by suffering.

When I cannot write a poem, I bake biscuits and feel just as pleased.

We walk up the beach under the stars. And when we are tired of walking, we lie flat on the sand under a bowl of stars. We feel stretched, expanded to take in their compass. They pour into us until we are filled with stars, up to the brim.

We seem so frightened today of being alone that we never let it happen. Even if family, friends, and movies should fail, there is still the radio or televsion to fill up the void... We can do our housework with soap-opera heroes at our side... Now instead of planting our solitude with our own dream blossoms, we choke the space with continuous music, chatter, and companionship to which we do not even listen. It is simply there to fill the vacuum. When the noise stops there is no inner music to take its place. We must re-learn to be alone.

I would like to achieve a state of inner spiritual grace from which I could function and give as I was meant to in the eye of God.

The collector walks with blinders on; he sees nothing but the prize. In fact, the acquisitive instinct is incompatible with true appreciation of beauty.

One can never pay in gratitude; one can only pay 'in kind' somewhere else in life.