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

Well, one gets out of bed and the planets don't always hiss or muck up the day, each day.

I hoard books. They are people who do not leave.

Let the light be called Day so that men may grow corn or take busses.

I like you; your eyes are full of language." [Letter to Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.]

[I] have fantasies of killing myself and thus being the powerful one not the powerless one.

Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort.