It Is Always Hard To

We Are Never Done With Thinking About Our Parents, I Suppose, And Come To Know Them Better Long After They Are Dead Than We Ever Did When They Were Alive.

Life Comes In Clusters, Clusters Of Solitude, Then A Cluster When There Is Hardly Time To Breathe.

Words Are My Passion / And Out Of Them And Me / I Would Create Beauty.

For After All We Make Our Faces As We Go Along.

Loneliness Is The Poverty Of Self; Solitude Is The Richness Of Self.