Love beauty it is the shadow of God on the universe

I write poetry because I can’t disobey the impulse; it would be like blocking a spring that surges up in my throat. For a long time I’ve been the servant of the song that comes, that appears and can’t be buried away. How to seal myself up now?…It no longer matters to me who receives what I submit. What I carry out is, in that respect, greater and deeper than I, I am merely the channel.

Many things can wait. Children cannot. Today their bones are being formed, their blood is being made, their senses are being developed. To them we cannot say "tomorrow." Their name is today.

Speech is our second possession, after the soul-and perhaps we have no other possession in this world.

Love that stammers, that stutters, is apt to be the love that loves best.

Let the earth look at me, and bless me, for now I am fecund and sacred, like the palms and the furrows.

I have all that I lost and I go carrying my childhood like a favorite flower that perfumes my hand.