I had a perfect confidence, still unshaken, in books. If you read enough you would reach the point of no return. You would cross over and arrive on the safe side. There you would drink the strong waters and become addicted, perhaps demented - but a Reader.

I don't feel like a survivor. I feel left behind.

I always return to Paris, taking my selves along - past self, customary self, the self I never had.

It seems an odd idea to my students that poetry, like all art, leads us away from itself, back to the world in which we live. It furnishes the vision. It shows with intense clarity what is already there.

The poor South. Already guilty of slavery, it became guilty of cigarettes.

poetry ... shows with a sudden intense clarity what is already there.

nobody alive or dead deserves to be called a poetess.