For me a true poem is on the way when I begin to be haunted, when it seems as if I were being asked an inescapable question by an angel with whom I must wrestle to get at the answer.

Though friendship is not quick to burn it is explosive stuff.

Without anxiety life would have very little savor.

When it comes to the important things one is always alone.

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.

Now I become myself. It’s taken time, many years and places.

It takes a long time for words to become thought.