It is like what we imagine knowledge to be: dark, salt, clear, moving, utterly free.

Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Sometimes it seemsas though only intelligent people are stupid enough to fall in love & only stupid people are intelligent enough to let themselves be loved.

Insomnia" perhaps she's a daytime sleeper.

I've never written the things I'd like to write that I've admired all my life. Maybe one never does.

Why shouldn't we, so generally addicted to the gigantic, at last have some small works of art, some short poems, short pieces of music [...], some intimate, low-voiced, and delicate things in our mostly huge and roaring, glaring world?

I was made at right angles to the world and I see it so. I can only see it so.