When I curse Fate, it's not me, but the earth in me.
The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.
You see how I try To reach with words What matters most And how I fail.
All was taken away from you: white dresses, wings, even existence.
The purpose of poetry is to remind us how difficult it is to remain just one person, for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors, and invisible guests come in and out at will.
Human material seems to have one major defect: it does not like to be considered merely as human material. It finds it hard to endure the feeling that it must resign itself to passive acceptance of changes introduced from above.