You are not male nor female, but a plan deep-set within the heart of man.
The mind is an enchanting thing.
There is a great amount of poetry in unconscious fastidiousness.
If technique is of no interest to a writer, I doubt that the writer is an artist.
Everything I have written is the result of reading or of interest in people.
Only imagination that towers can reproduce evanescence and render rigidity flexible.
War is pillage versus resistance and if illusions of magnitude could be transmuted into ideals of magnanimity, peace might be realized.
The sweet air coming into your house on a fine day, from water etched with waves as formal as the scales on a fish.
Unconfusion submits its confusion to proof; it's not a Herod's oath that cannot change.
... imaginary gardens with real toads in them ... ... if you demand on one hand, the raw material of poetry in all its rawness and that which is on the other hand genuine, then you are interested in poetry.
What is our innocence, What is our guilt? All are naked, none is safe.
All are / naked, none is safe.
Below the incandescent stars / below the incandescent fruit, / the strange experience of beauty; / its existence is too much; / it tears one to pieces / and each fresh wave of consciousness / is poison.
Which of us has not been stunned by the beauty of an animal's skin or its flexibility in motion?
Poetry ... ... a place for the genuine, Hands that can grasp, eyes that can dilate, hair that can rise
It is human nature to stand in the middle of a thing.
Truly as the sun can rot or mend, love can make one bestial or make a beast a man.
It is in general true that in order to create works of art one has to have leisure. On the other hand I think that one needs to experience resistance in a practical sense, and even that which is poignant to bring out what makes easy reading for others. Too much deprivation of course, means death.
Hindered characters / seldom have mothers / in Irish stories, but they all have grandmothers.
Honesty - however dangerous - should be as valuable as radium it seems to me.
There never was a war that was not inward.
Poetry is all nouns and verbs.
So wary as to disappear for centuries and reappear but never caught, the unicorn has been preserved by an unmatched device wrought like the work of expert blacksmiths.
[On her use of quotations:] When a thing has been said so well that it could not be said better, why paraphrase it? Hence my writing, is, if not a cabinet of fossils, a kind of collection of flies in amber.
Camels are snobbish and sheep, unintelligent; water buffaloes, neurasthenic-- even murderous. Reindeer seem over-serious.
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