It is possible, I suppose, that we are returning to a Dark Age. What is frightening is that violence is not only represented by nations, but everywhere walks among us freely.
Where joy in an old pencil is not absurd.
The value of solitude - one of its values - is, of course, that there is nothing to cushion against attacks from within, just as there is nothing to help balance at times of particular stress or depression.
It feels a long way up and down from zero.
Failure would only be if you had somewhere stopped growing. As far as I can see the whole duty of the artist is to keep on growing.
I have sometimes wondered also whether in people like me who come to the boil fast (soupe au lait, the French call this trait, like a milk soup that boils over) the tantrum is not a built-in safety valve against madness or illness. ... The fierce tension in me, when it is properly channeled, creates the good tension for work. But when it becomes unbalanced I am destructive. How to isolate that good tension is my problem these days. Or, put in another way, how to turn the heat down fast enough so the soup won't boil over!
The only way through pain…is to absorb, probe, understand exactly what it is and what it means. To close the door on pain is to miss the chance for growth.
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.
Solitude is the salt of personhood. It brings out the authentic flavor of every experience.
Pain can make a whole winter bright, like fever, force us to live deep and hard.
Wrinkles here and there seem unimportant compared to the Gestalt of the whole person I have become in this past year.
We have to believe that every person counts, counts as a creative force that can move mountains.
life is always bringing unexpected gifts.
I can understand people simply fleeing the mountainous effort Christmas has become... but there are always a few saving graces and finally they make up for all the bother and distress.
all great people are humble because great people have great work and are humbled by the largeness of their dreams.
Being very rich as far as I am concerned is having a margin. The margin is being able to give.
I have never written a book that was not born out of a question I needed to answer for myself.
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.
He [the cat] wound himself around her legs, purring the purr of ardent desire like a kettle coming to a boil and then bubbling very fast.
You will always be here with me; As long as I live, A towering figure of love.
About loving, I have little to learn from the young.
There the door is always open into the “holy” — growth, birth, death.
Life comes in clusters, clusters of solitude, then a cluster when there is hardly time to breathe.
My musical genius reached its apex thirty years ago when I played the triangle in Haydn's children's symphony, so I could not play unless you needed someone to make one sustained note!
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