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 live alone, perhaps for no good reason, for the reason that I am an impossible creature, set apart by a temperament I have never learned to use as it could be used, thrown off by a word, a glance, a rainy day, or one drink too many. My need to be alone is balanced against my fear of what will happen when suddenly I enter the huge empty silence if I cannot find support there. I go up to Heaven and down to Hell in an hour, and keep alive only by imposing upon myself inexorable routines. I write too many letters and too few poems.

And I refuse to feel guilty about not letter-writing either. There are times when one can, times when one can't. In the times when an enormous amount of living is going on, one can't.

I feel often very close to the ecstasy and anguish which lie at the very heart of poetry - I am writing a lot.

The hardest thing we are asked to do in this world is to remain aware of suffering, suffering about which we can do nothing.

Without anxiety life would have very little savor.

all great people are humble because great people have great work and are humbled by the largeness of their dreams.