And I refuse to feel guilty about not letter-writing either. There are times when one can, times when one can't. In the times when an enormous amount of living is going on, one can't.

One does not "find oneself" by pursuing one's self, but on the contrary by pursuing something else and learning through discipline or routine. . . who one is and wants to be.

One of the springs of poetry is joy.

A good marriage shuts out a very great deal.

Light is snow sifted / To an abstraction.

It is clear that we do not exactly choose our poems; our poems choose us.

How much hope, expectation, and sheer hard work goes into the smallest success! There is no being sure of anything except that whatever has been created will change in time.