I Think More And More People Are

Every Part Of Our Personality That We Do Not Love Will Become Hostile To Us.

Every Noon As The Clock Hands Arrive At Twelve, I Want To Tie The Two Arms Together, And Walk Out Of The Bank Carrying Time In Bags.

The Older I Get, The More Beauty I See In The Word Renunciation.

And Why Shouldn't The Miraculous, / Caught On This Earth, Visit / The Old Man Alone In His Hut?

When Anyone Seriously Pursues An Art - Painting, Poetry, Sculpture, Composing - Over Twenty Or Thirty Years, The Sustained Discipline Carries The Artist Down To The Countryside Of Grief, And That Descent, Resisted So Long Proves Invigorating. . . . As I've Gotten Older, I Find I Am Able To Be Nourished More By Sorrow And To Distinguish It From Depression.