Here life goes on, even and monotonous on the surface, full of lightning, of summits and of despair, in its depths. We have now arrived at a stage in life so rich in new perceptions that cannot be transmitted to those at another stage - one feels at the same time full of so much gentleness and so much despair - the enigma of this life grows, grows, drowns one and crushes one, then all of a sudden in a supreme moment of light one becomes aware of the sacred.

Life comes in clusters, clusters of solitude, then a cluster when there is hardly time to breathe.

True power is given to the vulnerable.

For poetry is, I believe, always an act of the spirit. The poem teaches us something while we make it. The poem makes you as you make the poem, and your making of the poem requires all your capacities of thought, feeling, analysis, and synthesis.

For inside all the weakness of old age, the spirit, God knows, is as mercurial as it ever was.

I am not a greedy person except about flowers and plants, and then I become fanatically greedy.

You will always be here with me; As long as I live, A towering figure of love.