Go rich in poverty. Go rich in poetry. This nothingness is plentitude.

Fighting dragons is my holy joy.

What we have not has made us what we are. / ... / What we are not drives us to consummation.

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

May we agree that private life is irrelevant? Multiple, mixed, ambiguous at best - out of it we try to fashion the crystal clear, the singular, the absolute, and that is what is relevant; that is what matters.

An old body when it is loved becomes a sacred treasure; and sex itself must always, it seems to me, come to us as a sacrament and be so used or it is meaningless. The flesh is suffused by the spirit, and it is forgetting this in the act of love-making that creates cynicism and despair.

Gardening gives one back a sense of proportion about everything - except itself.