All Great People Are Humble Because Great

It Is Clear That We Do Not Exactly Choose Our Poems; Our Poems Choose Us.

One Of The Springs Of Poetry Is Joy.

Mountains Define You. You Cannot Define / Them.

Fighting Dragons Is My Holy Joy.

There Were Moments ... When It Seemed That All One Could Be Asked Was Just To Keep The Ashtrays Clean, The Bed Made, The Wastebaskets Emptied, As If One Never Got To The Real Things Because Of The Constant Exhausting Battle To Keep Ordinary Life From Falling Apart.