The minute one utters a certainty, the opposite comes to mind.

The woman who needs to create works of art is born with a kind of psychic tension in her which drives her unmercifully to find a way to balance, to make herself whole. Every human being has this need: in the artist it is mandatory. Unable to fulfill it, he goes mad. But when the artist is a woman she fulfills it at the expense of herself as a woman.

A holiday gives one a chance to look backward and forward; to reset oneself by an inner compass.

Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is the richness of self.

So let the world go, but hold fast to joy.

I’m only able to write poetry, for the most part, when I have a Muse, a woman who focuses the world for me.

True feeling justifies whatever it may cost.