“If I cling to circumstances I could feel not responsible. Only she who says she did not choose, is the loser in the end.”

There must be those among whom we can sit down and weep and still be counted as warriors.

A book of poems doesn’t just come out by chance, an editor has to select it, a publisher has to distribute it or you will never see it.

Only to have a grief equal to all these tears!

A revolutionary poem will not tell you who or when to kill, what and when to burn, or even how to theorize. It reminds you… where and when and how you are living and might live, it is a wick of desire.

Most women have not even been able to touch this anger, except to drive it inward like a rusted nail.

The word revolution itself has become not only a dead relic of Leftism, but a key to the deadendedness of male politics.

Since men are loyal at least to their own world-view, their laws of brotherhood and self-interest.

Can you remember? when we thought the poets taught how to live?

Women’s art, though created in solitude, wells up out of community.

Made difficult-to-come-by, whatever is buried in the memory by the collapse of meaning under an inadequate or lying language – this will become, not merely unspoken, but unspeakable.

It is the thirtieth of May, the thirtieth of November, a beginning or an end, we are moving into the solstice and there is so much here I still do not understand.

In order to live a fully human life we require not only control of our bodies (though control is a prerequisite); we must touch the unity and resonance of our physicality, our bond with the natural order, the corporeal grounds of our intelligence.

It is as though the risks of the poet’s existence can be put to some use beyond her own survival.

Even the most angry, even the darkest, even the most grief-stricken, and even the most embittered art has that element somewhere behind it. Because how could you be so despairing, so embittered, if you had not had something you loved that you lost?

Passion for survival is the great theme of women’s poetry.

Behind all art is an element of desire…Love of life, of existence, love of another human being, love of human beings is in some way behind all art.

This is why the terrorists hate us. And it’s not the glitter and it’s not the pomp and circumstance.

You can’t manipulate a heart open. You can only allow it to open in the right circumstances.

It is very difficult to know exactly what good should come out of a particular situation. To attempt to manipulate circumstances so your idea of good can come about, is to let the ego play God-and that, as you know, can and does backfire.

Real religion is about, developing real character; character of compassion, character of humility, the character of determination to grow in all circumstances.

Our circumstances will continually change. It is out of our control. It is more important to change our attitude, which we have control of.

But let no person say what they would or would not do, since we are not judges for ourselves until circumstances call us to act.

It is to me a most affecting thing to hear myself prayed for, in particular as I do every day in the week, and disposes me to bear with more composure

Anyone can live contentedly in circumstances of ease and comfort, health and well-being gratification and felicit