Anyone who is going to be a writer knows enough at fifteen to write several novels.

Read between the lines.Then meet me in the silence if you can.

When I am alone the flowers are really seen; I can pay attention to them. They are felt as presences. Without them I would die...they change before my eyes. They live and die in a few days; they keep me closely in touch with the process, with growth, and also with dying. I am floated on their moments.

The creative person, the person who moves from an irrational source of power, has to face the fact that this power antagonizes. Under all the superficial praise of the creative is the desire to kill. It is the old war between the mystic and the nonmystic, a war to the death.

Pain can make a whole winter bright, like fever, force us to live deep and hard.

The hardest thing we are asked to do in this world is to remain aware of suffering, suffering about which we can do nothing.

True feeling justifies whatever it may cost.