I Suppose Real Old Age Begins When

What We Have Not Has Made Us What We Are. / ... / What We Are Not Drives Us To Consummation.

At Some Point I Believe One Has To Stop Holding Back For Fear Of Alienating Some Imaginary Reader Or Real Relative Or Friend, And Come Out With Personal Truth.

Your Poems Will Happen When No One Is There.

Gardening Is The Instrument Of Grace.

I Suppose One Has To Remember That 'life' Is Important Too, Though It's Something I Forget In Some Moods, Everything Except Work Seeming Like An Interruption Or Really Non-life.