Perhaps this very instant is your time.

... politics are nothing but sand and gravel: it is art and life that feed us until we die. Everything else is ambition, hysteria or hatred.

It is through the acceptance of a variety of aethetic and intellectual points of view that a culture is given breadth and density.

But childhood prolonged, cannot remain a fairyland. It becomes a hell.

...in a time lacking in truth and certainty and filled with anguish and despair, no woman should be shamefaced in attempting to give back to the world, through her work, a portion of its lost heart.

The poem is always the last resort. In it the poet makes a world in little, and finds peace, even though, under complete focused emotion, the evocation be far more bitter than reality, or far more lovely.

The measured blood beats out the year's delay.