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

Perhaps this very instant is your time.

I don't like quintessential certitude.

I have lost faith in universal panaceas - work is the one thing in which I really believe.

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

No more pronouncements on lousy verse. No more hidden competition. No more struggling not to be a square.

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.