To a poet, silence is an acceptable response, even a flattering one.

I did not look for her, because I was afraid of dispelling the mystery we attach to people whom we know only casually.

Time spent with a cat is never wasted.

No one asked you to be happy. Get to work.

At the top of the iron staircase leading to the stage, the good, dry, dusty warmth wraps me round like a comfortable dirty cloak.

If he's getting married, he's not longer interesting.

It's so curious: one can resist tears and 'behave' very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer... and everything collapses.