Try making a poem as if it were a table, clear and solid, standing there outside you.

One of the good elements of old age is that we no longer have to prove anything, to ourselves or to anyone else. We are what we are.

I find that when I have any appointment, even an afternoon one, it changes the whole quality of time. I feel overcharged. There is no space for what wells up from the subconscious; those dreams and images live in deep still water and simply submerge when the day gets scattered.

How unnatural the imposed view, imposed by a puritanical ethos, that passionate love belongs only to the young, that people are dead from the neck down by the time they are forty, and that any deep feeling, any passion after that age, is either ludicrous or revolting!

You will always be here with me; As long as I live, A towering figure of love.

We only keep what we lose.

Whatever peace I know rests in the natural world, in feeling myself a part of it, even in a small way.