“Still, despite the satisfaction of their surface lives, Cora Grovians share in full measure the pain that is the basis of all human misery: the fact that we can never be as important to anyone else as we are to ourselves.There simply is never enough love.”

“It's a very brave thing for anyone to do, offering love to another person. We make ourselves so vulnerable when we do it, don't we? We give that other person such power to hurt us and to rob us of our dignity. No one should ever belittle that gift, nor the giver.”

“We did not change as we grew older; we just became more clearly ourselves.”

“It doesn't have to be logical, it doesn't have to be love in the usual sense. It doesn't even have to be long lasting. Usually it isn't. But whatever it is, it is real and powerful while it lasts, and there's no point denying it.”

“Don't threaten me with your death, Mother. God doesn't want you, and the Devil won't have you. Doesn't want the competition.”

“To desire to write poems that endure-we undertake such a goal certain of two things: that in all likelihood we will fail, and if we succeed we will never know it”

“The tree is burning on the autumn noonThat builds each year the leaf and bark again.Though frost will strip it raw and barren soon,The rounding season will restore and mend.Yet people are not mended, but go on,Accumulating memory and love.And so the wood we used to know is gone,Because the years have taught us that we move.We have moved on, the Tamburlaines of then,To different Asias of our plundering.And though we sorrow not to know againA land or face we loved, yet we are king.The young are never robbed of innocenceBut given gold of love and memory.We live in wealth whose bounds exceed our sense,And when we die are full of memory.-from "September Ode”