For some things there are no wrong seasons. Which is what I dream of for me.
This is the first, wildest, and wisest thing I know, that the soul exists, and that it is built entirely out of attention.
I was hurrying through my own soul . . . I was leaning out . . . I was listening.
A mind that is lively and inquiring, compassionate, curious, angry, full of music, full of feeling, is a mind full of possible poetry.
To find a new word that is accurate and different, you have to be alert for it.
Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.