In The Country Of Pain

Innocence Is Not Pure So Much As Pleased, Always Expectant, Bright-eyed, Self-enclosed

I Suppose I Envy Painters Because They Can Meditate On Form And Structure, On Color And Light, And Not Concern Themselves With Human Torment And Chaos. It Is Restful Even To Imagine Expression Without Words.

If Art Is Not To Be Life-enhancing, What Is It To Be?

Love Opens The Doors Into Everything, As Far As I Can See, Including And Perhaps Most Of All, The Door Into One's Own Secret, And Often Terrible And Frightening, Real Self.

Poetry Is First Of All A Way Of Life And Only Secondarily A Way Of Writing.