Love joins and then divides. How else would we be growing?

Art like life is an open secret.

We should tackle reality in a slightly jokey way, otherwise we miss its point.

To write a poem is like trying to catch a lizard without its tail falling off.

How grudging memory is, and how bitterly she clutches the raw material of her daily work.

Whatever the heart desires, it purchases at the cost of soul

We are all hunting for rational reasons for believing in the absurd.