The price of being oneself is so high and involves so much ruthlessness toward others (or what looks like ruthlessness in our duty-bound culture) that very few people can afford it.
So let the world go, but hold fast to joy.
Why is it that people who cannot show feeling presume that that is a strength and not a weakness?
Do I think there's life after death? No, I think my books are my life after death.
Nobody stays special when they're old, Anna. That's what we have to learn.
I cannot understand why poetry is not taught at schools as a way of seeing, a quick, untiring path to essentials.
It is always hard to hear the buried truth from another person.
In the novel or the journal you get the journey. In a poem you get the arrival.
I long for the bulbs to arrive, for the early autumn chores are melancholy, but the planting of bulbs is the work of hope and is always thrilling.
a poet never feels useful.
have the courage to write whatever your dream is for yourself.
Light is snow sifted / To an abstraction.
Don't forget that compared to a grownup person every baby is a genius. Think of the capacity to learn! The freshness, the temperament, the will of a baby a few months old!
Don't forget that compared to a grownup person every baby is a genius.
I suppose one has to remember that 'life' is important too, though it's something I forget in some moods, everything except work seeming like an interruption or really non-life.
A body without bones would be a limp impossible mess, so a day without steady routine would be disruptive and chaotic.
In poetry compromise is fatal. In action of any cooperative sort it is inevitable. The thing is to find the balance.
“How does one grow up?” I asked a friend the other day. There was a slight pause; then she answered, “By thinking.”
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.
One of the springs of poetry is joy.
... the reason why there are so few first-class poets is that many people have intense feelings or first-class minds but to get the two together so that you will be willing to put a poem through sixty drafts, to be that self-critical, to keep breaking it down, that is what is rare. Right now most poetry is just self-indulgence.
The tragic thing about learning from experience is I fear that one can only learn from one's own experience. Other people's - other nations' - experiences simply do not help. They can be imaginatively learned from. But people do not act on other people's experiences.
There is a proper balance between not asking enough of oneself and asking or expecting too much.
over and over again I am struck by the wordiness of modern poetry, as if language had replaced experience and must be more and more extreme, intricate and in a way divorced from life itself. It seems as if what we all need is a great purification - but how will that come about?
I am not a greedy person except about flowers and plants, and then I become fanatically greedy.
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