I wanted to crawl in between those black lines of print, the way you crawl through a fence, and go to sleep under that beautiful big green fig-tree.
Let me live, love and say it well in good sentences.
It is awful to want to go away and to want to go nowhere.
I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root: It is what you fear. I do not fear it: I have been there.
I am not cruel, only truthful.
If only I knew what I wanted I could try to see about getting it.
The silence depressed me. It wasn’t the silence of silence. It was my own silence.
Don’t let the wicked city get you down.
Sometimes I feel like I’m not solid. I’m hollow. There’s nothing behind my eyes. I’m a negative of a person. All I want is blackness, blackness and silence.
Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams.
Oh what a poet I will flay myself into.
There is more than one good way to drown.
Tomorrow is another day toward death.
The abstract kills, the concrete saves.
Please, I want so badly for the good things to happen.
I could never be a complete scholar or a complete housewife ora completewriter: Imustcombinea little of all, and thereby be imperfect in all.
I want so obviously, so desperately to be loved, and to be capable of love.
Clouds pass and disperse. Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables? Is it for such I agitate my heart?
I must not be selfless: develop a sense of self. A solidness that can’t be attacked.
I am disabused of all faith, and see too clearly.