I love giving flowers. It is so deliciously unlasting and romantic.

A holiday gives one a chance to look backward and forward; to reset oneself by an inner compass.

Poems like to have a destination for their flight. They are homing pigeons.

If I were to choose one single thing that that would restore Paris to the senses, it would be that strangely sweet, unhealthy smell of the Métro, so very unlike the dank cold or the stuffy heat of subways in New York.

It's extraordinary how little two people can understand each other and how cruel two people who are fond of each other can be to each other - there is practically no cruelty so awful because their power to hurt is so great.

Growing old is, of all things we experience, that which takes the most courage, and at a time when we have the least resources, especially with which to meet frustration.

I see a certain order in the universe and math is one way of making it visible.