It Is Curious How Any Making Of

Poetry Is First Of All A Way Of Life And Only Secondarily A Way Of Writing.

We Are All Jellyfish, Too Pitiful And Too Afraid Of Being Disliked To Be Honest.

Am I Too Old, Perhaps, Ever To Take In Another's Life To Share With Mine On A Permanent Basis? If So, I Must Make Do With What I Have... And What I Have Is A Great Richness Of Friends And A Positively Ardent Love Of Nature. Not Nothing!

If We Are To Understand The Human Condition, And If We Are To Accept Ourselves In All The Complexity, Self-doubt, Extravagance Of Feeling, Guilt, Joy, The Slow Freeing Of The Self To Its Full Capacity For Action And Creation, Both As Human Being And As Artist, We Have To Know All We Can About Each Other, And We Have To Be Willing To Go Naked.

A Holiday Gives One A Chance To Look Backward And Forward; To Reset Oneself By An Inner Compass.