Language always betrays us, tells the truth when we want to lie, and dissolves into formlessness when we would most like to be precise.

For fate may hang on any moment and at any moment be changed.

Are we all living like this? Two lives, the ideal outer life and the inner imaginative life where we keep our secrets?

Every journey conceals another journey within its lines: the path not taken and the forgotten angle.

When a woman gives birth her waters break and she pours out the child and the child runs free.

Islands are metaphors of the heart, no matter what poet says otherwise.