What is important is to keep our mind high in the world of true understanding, and returning to the world of our daily experience to seek therein the truth of beauty. No matter what we may be doing at a given moment, we must not forget that is has a bearing upon our everlasting self which is poetry.

Why so scrawny, cat? Starving for fat fish or mice... Or backyard love?

Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.

An autumn night - don’t think your life didn’t matter.

Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.

In this poor body, composed of one hundred bones and nine openings, is something called spirit, a flimsy curtain swept this way and that by the slightest breeze. It is spirit, such as it is, which led me to poetry, at first little more than a pastime, then the full business of my life. There have been times when my spirit, so dejected, almost gave up the quest, other times when it was proud, triumphant. So it has been from the very start, never finding peace with itself, always doubting the worth of what it makes.

No matter where your interest lies, you will not be able to accomplish anything unless you bring your deepest devotion to it.