I may never be happy, but tonight I am content. Nothing more than an empty house, the warm hazy weariness from a day spent setting strawberry runners in the sun, a glass of cool sweet milk, and a shallow dish of blueberries bathed in cream. When one is so tired at the end of a day one must sleep, and at the next dawn there are more strawberry runners to set, and so one goes on living, near the earth. At times like this I'd call myself a fool to ask for more.

As a poet I would say everything should be able to come into a poem but I can't put toothbrushes in a poem. I really can't.

If you expect nothing from anybody, you’re never disappointed.

The frost makes a flower, the dew makes a star.

I need the reality of other people, work, to fulfill myself. Must never become a mere mother and housewife.

Let me live, love and say it well in good sentences.

I have never found anybody who could stand to accept the daily demonstrative love I feel in me, and give back as good as I give.