There’s plenty that poetry cannot do. But the miracle, of course, is how much it can do, how much it does do.

I do not believe in the beauty of falling.

Days go by when I do nothing but underline the damp edge of myself.

If I could/bind myself to this moment, to the slow//snare of its scent/what would it matter if I became//just the flutter of page/in a text someone turns//to examine me/in the wrong color?

Without you my air tastes like nothing. For you I hold my breath.

You can’t have two worlds in your hands and choose emptiness.

She cannot: but must do it by distance of time.

When suffering comes, learn to trust each day into God’s hands . . . let your lips be filled with prayer and praise.

Photography is more than a medium for factual communication of ideas. It is a creative art.

We have a strange anxiety in us; that if we don't interfere then it won't happen. Now that's the root of an enormous amount of trouble.

Why, when I was a child, I didn't say, as most children do, that I was going to become an actress. I felt that I was an actress and no one could have convinced me that I wasn't!

Not a moment passes these days without fresh rushes of academic lemmings off the cliffs they proclaim the political responsibilities of the critic, but eventually all this moralizing will subside.

I'm trying to drink more water.

Pause and remember - Nothing lasts forever. Better days are coming, but they will come faster with faith.

Treachery, though at first very cautious, in the end betrays itself.

What can I say about this move? Nothing so I won't.