I Suppose I Have Written Novels To

The More Our Bodies Fail Us, The More Naked And More Demanding Is The Spirit, The More Open And Loving We Can Become If We Are Not Afraid Of What We Are And Of What We Feel. I Am Not A Phoenix Yet, But Here Among The Ashes, It May Be That The Pain Is Chiefly That Of New Wings Trying To Push Through.

Without Darkness, Nothing Comes To Birth, As Without Light, Nothing Flowers.

Light Is Snow Sifted / To An Abstraction.

It Is, I Assume, Quite Easy To Wither Into Old Age, And Hard To Grow Into It.

Without Anxiety Life Would Have Very Little Savor.