"I hold my honey and I store my bread In little jars and cabinets of my will. I label clearly, and each latch and lid I bid, Be firm till I return from hell."

"And all the little people Will stare at me and say, "That is the Crazy Woman Who would not sing in May.""

"I shall not sing a May song. A May song should be gay. I'll wait until November And sing a song of gray."

"He is not there but You know you are tasting together The winter, or a light spring weather. His hand to take your hand is overmuch. Too much too bear."

"To be in love Is to touch with a lighter hand. In yourself you stretch, you are well."

"I am interested in telling my particular truth as I have seen it."

"I am a writer perhaps because I am not a talker."

"Be careful what you swallow. Chew!"

"Truth-tellers are not always palatable. There is a preference for candy bars."

"Art is a refining and evocative translation of the materials of the world."

"Exhaust the little moment. Soon it dies. And be it gash or gold it will not come Again in this identical guise."

"We real cool. We Left school. We Lurk late. We Strike straight. We Sing sin. We Thin gin. We Jazz June. We Die soon."

"Art hurts. Art urges voyages— and it is easier to stay at home."

"Somebody muffed it?? Somebody wanted to joke."

"That time we all heard it, cool and clear, cutting across the hot grit of the day. The major Voice. The adult Voice forgoing Rolling River, forgoing tearful tale of bale and barge and other symptoms of an old despond. Warning, in music-words devout and large, that we are each other's harvest: we are each other's business: we are each other's magnitude and bond."