Love, love, I have hung our cave with roses.

Joy:show joy & enjoy: then others will be joyful.

I think the coming of spring, the stars overhead, the first snowfall and so on are gifts for a child, a young poet.

Like a cat I have nine times to die.

I thought how strange it had never occurred to me before that I was only purely happy until I was nine years old.

A little thing, like children putting flowers in my hair, can fill up the widening cracks in my self-assurance like soothing lanolin.

I had imagined a kind, ugly, intuitive man looking up and say, 'Ah!' in an encouraging way, as if he could see something I couldn't, and then I would find words to tell him how I was so scared, as if I were being stuffed farther and farther into a black, airless sack with no way out.