I was under twenty when I deliberately put it to myself one night after good conversation that there are moments when we actually touch in talk what the best writing can only come near. The curse of our book language is not so much that it keeps forever to the same set phrases . . . but that it sounds forever with the same reading tones. We must go out into the vernacular for tones that haven't been brought to book.

I end not far from my going forth By picking the faded blue Of the last remaining aster flower To carry again to you.

Nature's first green is gold.

You're always believing ahead of your evidence. What was the evidence I could write a poem? I just believed it. The most creative thing in us is to believe in a thing.

Every poem is a momentary stay against the confusion of the world.

I dwell in a lonely house I know That vanished many a summer ago.

Being the boss anywhere is lonely. Being a female boss in a world of mostly men is especially so.