War is a fevered god who takes alike maiden and king and clod.
Words were her plague and words were her redemption.
...if you do not even understand what words say, how can you expect to pass judgement on what words conceal?
Dance until the earth dance.
Writing. Love is writing.
She did not look at the daffodils. They didn't mean anything. She looked at the daffodils. She said, 'Thank you for the daffodils.