All The Poems Of Our Lives Are

Everywhere We Are Told That Our Human Resources Are All To Be Used, That Our Civilization Itself Means The Uses Of Everything It Has - The Inventions, The Histories, Every Scrap Of Fact. But There Is One Kind Of Knowledge - Infinitely Precious, Time-resistant More Than Monuments, Here To Be Passed Between The Generations In Any Way It May Be: Never To Be Used. And That Is Poetry.

If There Were No Poetry On Any Day In The World, Poetry Would Be Invented That Day. For There Would Be An Intolerable Hunger.

I Think There Is A Choice Possible To Us At Any Moment, As Long As We Live. But There Is No Sacrifice. There Is A Choice, And The Rest Falls Away. Second Choice Does Not Exist. Beware Of Those Who Talk About Sacrifice.

What Would Happen If One Woman Told The Truth About Her Life? The World Would Split Open.

One Writes In Order To Feel.