The poor South. Already guilty of slavery, it became guilty of cigarettes.
nobody alive or dead deserves to be called a poetess.
being asked to decide between your passion for work and your passion for children was like being asked by your doctor whether you preferred him to remove your brain or your heart.
poetry ... shows with a sudden intense clarity what is already there.
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.