It is the hardest thing to take chaos and make order of it. Poetry is a veil in front of a heart beating at a very fast pace.

The poet's dilemma..to create order in the midst of disorder

Love is poetry, poetry is love

The very impulse to write springs from an inner chaos crying for order - for meaning.

Poetry interprets the chaos of human life and tries to bestow meaning on it. Without imagination there could be no poetry; and imagination chained by ideology produces only propaganda.

When you read and understand a poem, then you master chaos a little.

so that there resulted a chaos as disordered as the poets ever feigned,

The chaos lies all within.

Whenever a new literary venture makes me mentally and emotionally restless, I live in utter chaos. (p179)

I shall have poetry in my life. And adventure. And love, love, love, above all. Love as there has never been in a play. Unbiddable, ungovernable, like a riot in the heart and nothing to be done, come ruin or rapture.

A chaos of mind and body - a time for weeping at sunsets and at the glamour of moonlight - a confusion and profusion of beliefs and hopes, in God, in Truth, in Love, and in Eternity - an ability to be transported by the beauty of physical objects - a heart to ache or swell- a joy so joyful and a sorrow so sorrowful that oceans could lie between them...

My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.

I long for poems of an inner harmony in utter contrast to the chaos in which they exist. Insofar as poetry has a social function it is to awaken sleepers by other means than shock.

In chaos, there is fertility.