Human relations just are not fixed in their orbits like the planets -- they're more like galaxies, changing all the time, exploding into light for years, then dying away.

In a total work, the failures have their not unimportant place.

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

Revision is not going back and fussing around, but going forward into the process of creation

I tell the gods are still alive / And they are not consoling.

About loving, I have little to learn from the young.

It feels a long way up and down from zero.