The eyes of others our prisons; their thoughts our cages.

So fine was the morning except for a streak of wind here and there that the sea and sky looked all one fabric, as if sails were stuck high up in the sky, or the clouds had dropped down into the sea.

After all, what is a lovely phrase? One that has mopped up as much Truth as it can hold.

For the young people could not talk. And why should they? Shout, embrace, swing, be up at dawn.

Nothing has really happened until it has been recorded.

Moments like this are buds on the tree of life. Flowers of darkness they are.

Love, the poet said, is woman's whole existence.