The Price Of Being Oneself Is So

I Tell The Gods Are Still Alive / And They Are Not Consoling.

I Asked Myself The Question, 'what Do You Want Of Your Life?' And I Realized With A Start Of Recognition And Terror, 'exactly What I Have - But To Be Commensurate, To Handle It All Better.

I Am Furious At All The Letters To Answer, When All I Want To Do Is Think And Write Poems. ... I Long For Open Time, With No Obligations Except Toward The Inner World And What Is Going On There.

I Think That Passion If Really Intense Is Always Destructive If Not To The Two Involved, Always To Other People.

Most People Have To Talk So They Won't Hear.