Over your body the clouds goHigh, high and icilyAnd a little flat, as if theyFloated on a glass that was invisible.Unlike swans, Having no reflections;Unlike you, With no strings attached.All cool, al...
I can't deceive myself that out of the bare stark realization that no matter how enthusiastic you are, no matter how sure that character is fate, nothing is real, past or future, when you are alone in...
How we need another soul to cling to, another body to keep us warm. To rest and trust; to give your soul in confidence: I need this, I need someone to pour myself into.
But the life of a Willa Cather, a Lillian Helman, and Virginia Woolf - - - would it not be a series of rapid ascents and probing descents into shades and meanings — into more people, ideas and concept...
After all, I wasn't crippled in any way, I just studied too hard, I didn't know when to stop.
LADY LAZARUSI have done it again.One year in every tenI manage it--A sort of walking miracle, my skinBright as a Nazi lampshade,My right footA paperweight,My face a featureless, fineJew linen.Peel off...
Its snaky acids kiss.It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults That kill, that kill, that kill.
I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad.
It is as if my life were magically run by two electric currents: joyous positive and despairing negative - whichever is running at the moment dominates my life, floods it.
They might ignore me immediately. In my moon suit and funeral veil. I am no source of honeySo why should they turn on me?Tomorrow I will be sweet God, I will set them free.
I wonder why I don't go to bed and go to sleep. But then it would be tomorrow, so I decide that no matter how tired, no matter how incoherent I am, I can skip on hour more of sleep and live.
A skeptic, I would ask for consistency first of all.
I have felt great advances in my poetry, the main one being a growing victory over word nuances and a superfluity of adjectives.
The trouble about jumping was that if you didn't pick the right number of storeys, you might still be alive when you hit bottom.
I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.
I love people. Everybody. I love them, I think, as a stamp collector loves his collection. Every story, every incident, every bit of conversation is raw material for me. My love's not impersonal yet n...
I am your opus.
I am too pure for you or anyone.From the poem Fever 103°, 20 October 1962
When you are insane, you are busy being insane - all the time.
I couldn't stand the idea of a woman having to have a single pure life and a man being able to have a double life, one pure and one not.