I sometimes think men don't 'hear' very well, if I take your meaning to be 'understand what is going on in a person.' That's what makes them so restful. Women wear each other out with their everlasting touching of the nerve.

Human relations just are not fixed in their orbits like the planets -- they're more like galaxies, changing all the time, exploding into light for years, then dying away.

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

We have to believe that every person counts, counts as a creative force that can move mountains.

Without anxiety life would have very little savor.

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

“How does one grow up?” I asked a friend the other day. There was a slight pause; then she answered, “By thinking.”