I teach my sighs to lengthen into songs.

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. I feel my fate in what I cannot fear. I learn by going where I have to go.

In our age, if a boy or girl is untalented, the odds are in favor of their thinking they want to write.

May my silences become more accurate.

So much of adolescence is an ill-defined dying, An intolerable waiting, A longing for another place and time, Another condition.

In this place of light: he dares to live Who stops being a bird, yet beats his wings Against the immense immeasurable emptiness of things.

A mind too active is no mind at all.