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Because she is in God’s hands.’ But if so, she was in God’s hands all the time, and I have seen what they did to her here. Do they suddenly become gen...more

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Here the whole world (stars, water, air,And field, and forest, as they wereReflected in a single mind)Like cast off clothes was left behindIn ashes, y...more

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I never exactly made a book. It's rather like taking dictation. I was given things to say.

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Child, to say the very thing you really mean, the whole of it, nothing more or less or other than what you really mean; that's the whole art and joy o...more

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You can make anything by writing.

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You can make anything by writing

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I sometimes think that writing is like driving a sheep down the road. If there's any gate open to the left or the right the reader will most certainly...more

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Oh God, God, why did you take such trouble to force this creature out of its shell if it is now doomed to crawl back -- to be sucked back -- into it?

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The death of a beloved is an amputation.

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If a mother is mourning not for what she has lost but for what her dead child has lost, it is a comfort to believe that the child has not lost the end...more

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They say, 'The coward dies many times'; so does the beloved. Didn't the eagle find a fresh liver to tear in Prometheus every time it dined?

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The grave and the image are equally links with the irrecoverable and symbols for the unimaginable.

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Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything.But no, that is not quite accurate. There is one place where her absence comes locally home to me,...more

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Once very near the end I said, 'If you can -- if it is allowed -- come to me when I too am on my death bed.' 'Allowed!' she said. 'Heaven would have a...more

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My idea of God is not a divine idea. It has to be shattered time after time. He shatters it Himself.