However confused the scene of our life appears, however torn we may be who now do face that scene, it can be faced, and we can go on to be whole.
I hear the singing of the lives of women. They clear mystery, the offering, and pride.
Reality is the completion of experience.
A world is to be fought for, sung, and built: Love must imagine the world.
Poetry is, above all, an approach to the truth of feeling.
I think there is a choice possible to us at any moment, as long as we live. But there is no sacrifice. There is a choice, and the rest falls away. Second choice does not exist. Beware of those who talk about sacrifice.