Whatever Can Happen To Anyone Can Happen

Everywhere We Are Told That Our Human Resources Are All To Be Used, That Our Civilization Itself Means The Uses Of Everything It Has - The Inventions, The Histories, Every Scrap Of Fact. But There Is One Kind Of Knowledge - Infinitely Precious, Time-resistant More Than Monuments, Here To Be Passed Between The Generations In Any Way It May Be: Never To Be Used. And That Is Poetry.

Dreams Are The Sources Of Action, The Meeting And The End, A Resting Place Among The Flight Of Things.

What Would Happen If One Woman Told The Truth About Her Life? The World Would Split Open.

Punctuation Is Biological. It Is The Physical Indication Of The Body-rhythms Which The Reader Is To Acknowledge.

How Can I Look Back And Not Speak Of The Stupid Learning About Birth? Of The Stupid Learning That People Make Love, And How It Seemed The Reason For All Things, The Intimacy Of My Wondering, The Illumination That To An Adolescent Was The Cause For Life Around Me, The Reason Why The Unhappy People I Knew Did Not Kill Themselves?