Do Not Deprive Me Of My Age.

A Garden Is Always A Series Of Losses Set Against A Few Triumphs, Like Life Itself.

Loneliness Is The Poverty Of Self; Solitude Is The Richness Of Self.

An Old Body When It Is Loved Becomes A Sacred Treasure; And Sex Itself Must Always, It Seems To Me, Come To Us As A Sacrament And Be So Used Or It Is Meaningless. The Flesh Is Suffused By The Spirit, And It Is Forgetting This In The Act Of Love-making That Creates Cynicism And Despair.

Pain Can Make A Whole Winter Bright, Like Fever, Force Us To Live Deep And Hard.

I Find That When I Have Any Appointment, Even An Afternoon One, It Changes The Whole Quality Of Time. I Feel Overcharged. There Is No Space For What Wells Up From The Subconscious; Those Dreams And Images Live In Deep Still Water And Simply Submerge When The Day Gets Scattered.