There is only one real deprivation... and that is not to be able to give one's gifts to those one loves most.

True feeling justifies whatever it may cost.

Without anxiety life would have very little savor.

At any moment solitude may put on the face of loneliness.

over and over again I am struck by the wordiness of modern poetry, as if language had replaced experience and must be more and more extreme, intricate and in a way divorced from life itself. It seems as if what we all need is a great purification - but how will that come about?

...I feel more alive when I'm writing than I do at any other time--except when I'm making love. Two things when you forget time, when nothing exists except the moment--the moment of writing, the moment of love. That perfect concentration is bliss.

Love is our human miracle.