Money is only a human invention. I get paid for my work, it's a system of trade, but it's not my purpose and reason for living.

The category "Women Poets" is bizarre and irrelevant. It's a subcategory of Poets, but there is not a "Men Poets" category.

Looking up and out, how can we not respect this ever-vigilant cognizance that distinguishes us: the capability to envision, to dream, and to invent? the ability to ponder ourselves? and be aware of our existence on the outer arm of a spiral galaxy in an immeasurable ocean of stars? Cognizance is our crest.

Pure at heart: to be like a flower that blooms as gloriously, brilliantly in a secluded wild wood, not seen and praised.

Only Love conceives things worthy enough to stand greater than individual accomplishment.

Events, time, forms, all propel the inner plot within each of us.

Poetry is our heart, our spirit, our soul. Call it whatever; without it, everything else is nothing but hardware.