“Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance.”

“I like you; your eyes are full of language."[Letter to Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.]”

“Poetry led me by the hand out of madness.”

“It is snowing and death bugs meas stubborn as insomnia.”

“I’d won the worldbut like aforsaken explorer,I’d lostmy map.”

“Some women marry houses.”

“Clover['s] eyes are full of language.”

“I feel unspeakably lonely. And I feel - drained. It is a blank state of mind and soul I cannot describe to you as I think it would not make any difference. Also it is a very private feeling I have - that of melting into a perpetual nervous breakdown. I am often questioning myself what I further want to do, who I further wish to be; which parts of me, exactly, are still functioning properly. No answers, darling. At all.”

“exI feel unspeakably lonely. And I feel - drained. It is a blank state of mind and soul I cannot describe to you as I think it would not make any difference. Also it is a very private feeling I have - that of melting into a perpetual nervous breakdown. I am often questioning myself what I further want to do, who I further wish to be; which parts of me, exactly, are still functioning properly. No answers, darling. At all.”

“The rest of my room is book shelves. I hoard books. They are people who do not leave.”

“Death's in the good-bye.”