Today I am altogether without ambition. Where did I get such wisdom?
What can we do about God, who makes and then breaks every god-forsaken, beautiful day?
When it's over I don't want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't know lots of things but I know this: next year when spring flows over the starting point I'll think I'm going to drown in the shimmering miles of it.
After a cruel childhood, one must reinvent oneself. Then reimagine the world.
I grew up in a sad, depressed place. I got out. Poetry saved my life.