They [daisies] are my favorite flower. There is something innocent and vulnerable about them as if they thanked you for admiring them.

Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren

And we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins forgotten. Am I still lost? Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself

Put your mouthful of words away and come with me to watch the lilies open in such a field, growing there like yachts, slowly steering their petals without nurses or clocks.

But my future is a secret. / It is as shy as a mole.

Don’t worry if they say you’re crazy. They said that about me and yet I was saner than all of them. I knew. No matter. You know. Insane or sane, you know. It’s a good thing to know - no matter what they call it.

I must always forget how one word is able to pick out another, to manner another, until I have got something I might have said... but did not.