I was the place where you anchored. I was the deep water where you could be weightless. I was the surface where you saw your own reflection. You scooped me up in your hands.

I keep myself locked as a box when it matters, and broken open when it doesn't matter at all.

What I want does exist if I dare to find it.

I seem to have run in a great circle, and met myself again on the starting line.

Art saved me; it got me through my depression and self-loathing, back to a place of innocence.

There is still a popular fantasy, long since disproved by both psychoanalysis and science, and never believed by any poet or mystic, that it is possible to have a thought without a feeling. It isn’t. When we are objective we are subjective too. When we are neutral we are involved. When we say ‘I think’ we don’t leave our emotions outside the door. To tell someone not to be emotional is to tell them to be dead.

Writing has to have a great deal of certainty and self-assurance, but it's not arrogant.