It's when we face for a moment the worst our kind can do, and shudder to know the taint in our own selves, that awe cracks the mind's shell and enters the heart.

Two girls discover the secret of life in a sudden line of poetry.

Let me walk through the fields of paper touching with my wand dry stems and stunted butterflies.

It is fatal to one's artistic life to talk about something that is in process.

But we have only begun to love the earth. We have only begun to imagine the fullness of life. How could we tire of hope?-so much is in bud.

There's in my mind a... turbulent moon-ridden girl or old woman, or both, dressed in opals and rags, feathers and torn taffeta, who knows strange songs but she is not kind.

What I heard was my whole self saying and singing what it knew: I can.