A Thousand Kindnesses Do Not Make Up

Your Work Is Carved Out Of Agony As A Statue Is Carved Out Of Marble.

O God, In The Dream The Terrible Horse Began To Paw At The Air, And Make For Me With His Blows.

It Is Almost Impossible For The Poetess, Once Laurelled, To Take Off The Crown For Good Or To Reject Values And Taste Of Those Who Tender It.

Women Have No Wilderness In Them They Are Provident Instead Content In The Tight Hot Cell Of Their Hearts To Eat Dusty Bread.

Innocence Of Heart And Violence Of Feeling Are Necessary In Any Kind Of Superior Achievement: The Arts Cannot Exist Without Them.