[In old age] there is a childlike innocence, often, that has nothing to do with the childishness of senility. The moments become precious . . .

When one's not writing poems - and I'm not at the moment - you wonder how you ever did it. It's like another country you can't reach.

It is sometimes the most fragile things that have the power to endure and become sources of strength.

Love cannot exorcise the gifts of hate. / Hate cannot exorcize what has no weight, / But laughter we can never over-rate.

I suppose I have written novels to find out what I thought about something and poems to find out what I felt about something.

When we admit our vulnerability, we include others. If we deny it, we shut them out.

In the novel or the journal you get the journey. In a poem you get the arrival.