A great silence has descended on me for the last six months. I am as silent as an Arab in the desert, as dry, thirsty, and full of wonder and rumours which do not materialize into camels or travellers at all, but just vanish into the silent spaces from where they came. I expect this is a good thing though it is extremely irritating - the brink of a voice and never a voice.

Words are my passion / And out of them and me / I would create beauty.

Absence becomes the greatest Presence.

The body is a universe in itself and must be held as sacred as anything in creation....It is dangerous to forget the body as sacramental.

I sometimes imagine that as one grows older one comes to live a role which as a young person one merely 'played.

Time spent with poets is never wasted.

The price of being oneself is so high and involves so much ruthlessness toward others (or what looks like ruthlessness in our duty-bound culture) that very few people can afford it.