“DolorI have known the inexorable sadness of pencils,Neat in their boxes, dolor of pad and paper weight,All the misery of manilla folders and mucilage,Desolation in immaculate public places,Lonely reception room, lavatory, switchboard,The unalterable pathos of basin and pitcher,Ritual of multigraph, paper-clip, comma,Endless duplicaton of lives and objects.And I have seen dust from the walls of institutions,Finer than flour, alive, more dangerous than silica,Sift, almost invisible, through long afternoons of tedium,Dropping a fine film on nails and delicate eyebrows,Glazing the pale hair, the duplicate gray standard faces.”

“I have gone into the waste lonely places”

“What's madness but nobility of soulAt odds with circumstance? The day's on fire! I know the purity of pure despair, my shadow pinned against a sweating wall, that place among the rocks--is it a cave, or winding path? The edge is what I have.”

“All lovers live by longing, and endure:Summon a vision and declare it pure.”

“I lose and find myself in the long water. I am gathered together once more. ”

“Over every mountain, there is a path, although it may not be seen from the valley.”

“So much of adolescence is an ill-defined dying,An intolerable waiting,A longing for another place and time,Another condition.”