We cannot afford not to fight for growth and understanding, even when it is painful, as it is bound to be.

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.

She became for me an island of light, fun, wisdom where I could run with my discoveries and torments and hopes at any time of day and find welcome.

We have to make myths of our lives, the point being that if we do, then every grief or inexplicable seizure by weather, woe, or work can-if we discipline ourselves and think hard enough-be turned to account, be made to yield further insight into what it is to be alive, to be a human being.

So this was fame at last! Nothing but a vast debt to be paid to the world in energy, blood, and time.

Love is our human miracle.

Your poems will happen when no one is there.