“Slipping in blood, by his own hand, through pride,Hamlet, Othello, Coriolanus fall.Upon his bed, however, Shakespeare die,Having endured them all.”

“You have put your two hands upon me, and your mouth,You have said my name as a prayer.Here where trees are planted by waterI have watched your eyes, cleansed from regret,And your lips, closed over all that love cannot say.”

“O rememberIn your narrowing dark hoursThat more things moveThan blood in the heart.”

“The Initial Mystery that attends any journey is: how did the traveler reach his starting point in the first place?”

“...in a time lacking in truth and certainty and filled with anguish and despair, no woman should be shamefaced in attempting to give back to the world, through her work, a portion of its lost heart.”

“I hope that one or two immortal lyrics will come out of all this tumbling around.”

“Goodbye, goodbye!There was so much to love, I could not love it all;I could not love it enough.”