O remember In your narrowing dark hours That more things move Than blood in the heart.

The Initial Mystery that attends any journey is: how did the traveler reach his starting point in the first place?

Perhaps this very instant is your time.

It is almost impossible for the poetess, once laurelled, to take off the crown for good or to reject values and taste of those who tender it.

Hate does not present many choices; if hate is your solution, you are fairly certain to hate all phemonena with equal joy and intensity, without troubling to drag into prominence any one feature from the loathsome whole.

Women have no wilderness in them They are provident instead Content in the tight hot cell of their hearts To eat dusty bread.

Stupidity always accompanies evil. Or evil, stupidity.