O Lord, may I never want to look good. O Jesus, may I always read it all: out loud and the very way it should be. May I never look at the other findings until I have come to my own true conclusions: May I care for the least of the young: and become aware of the one poem that each may have written; may I be aware of what each thing is, delighted with form, and wary of the false comparison; may I never use the word "brilliant."

Art is the means we have of undoing the damage of haste. It's what everything else isn't.

What have I done, dear God, to deserve this perpetual feeling that I'm almost ready to begin something really new?

How terrible the need for God.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?

What is madness but nobility of soul at odds with circumstance?

Wake the happy words.