If you purify the pond, the lilies die

My question is "when did other people give up the idea of being a poet?" You know, when we are kids we make up things, we write, and for me the puzzle is not that some people are still writing, the real question is why did the other people stop?

You can treat experience as a set of surprises on which to exercise your quirky self.

Can injustice one way be corrected without the interim reaction that tries to impose injustice the other way?

Once we have tasted far streams, touched the gold, found some limit beyond the waterfall, a season changes and we come back changed but safe, quiet, grateful.

Please think about this as you go on. Breathe on the world. Hold out your hands to it. When morning and evenings roll along, watch how they open and close, how they invite you to the long party that your life is.

What you have to do as a writer is . . . write day in and day out no matter what happens.