One Writes Because One Has

[on Her Use Of Quotations:] When A Thing Has Been Said So Well That It Could Not Be Said Better, Why Paraphrase It? Hence My Writing, Is, If Not A Cabinet Of Fossils, A Kind Of Collection Of Flies In Amber.

Of The Crow-blue Mussel Shells, One Keeps Adjusting The Ash Heaps; Opening And Shutting Itself Like An Injured Fan.

I Wonder What Adam And Eve Think Of It By This Time.

You Are Not Male Nor Female, But A Plan Deep-set Within The Heart Of Man.

Below The Incandescent Stars / Below The Incandescent Fruit, / The Strange Experience Of Beauty; / Its Existence Is Too Much; / It Tears One To Pieces / And Each Fresh Wave Of Consciousness / Is Poison.