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

When we speak of being vulnerable, it suggests being especially vulnerable to pain. People for whom personal dignity and self-sufficiency are everything, do all they can to shut it out. Noli mi tangere. They are well aware that any intimate relationship has pain in it, forces a special kind of awareness, is costly, and so they try to keep themselves unencumbered by shutting pain out as far as it is possible to do so.

The most valuable thing we can do for the psyche, occasionally, is to let it rest, wander, live in the changing light of room, not try to be or do anything whatever.

Don't forget that compared to a grownup person every baby is a genius.

I write poems about relationships, love relationships, and I'm not able to do that all the time. I could go two years without writing poems, and then write a dozen. Having a novel to work on, with the intricate puzzle of character and plot to work out, is satisfying for the time there is no poetry.

For to be desperate is to discover strength. / We die of comfort and by conflict live.

There are some griefs so loud/They could bring down the sky/And there are griefs so still/None knows how deep they lie.