After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs.
I had an instinctive feeling that the people who have little or no school training should have something coming into their homes weekly which dealt with their problems in a simple, helpful way… so I wrote in a plain, common-sense way on the things that concerned our people.
All of our reasoning ends in surrender to feeling.
I never felt a feeling that I knew or could know to be unlike the feelings of other people. I never consciously thought, except after patterns that the world or my fellows set for me.
Innumerable confusions and a feeling of despair invariably emerge in periods of great technological and cultural transition.
Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.
Life is like music; it must be composed by ear, feeling, and instinct, not by rule.
Pride is a tricky, glorious, double-edged feeling.
The poem is a form of texting… it’s the original text. It’s a perfecting of a feeling in language – it’s a way of saying more with less, just as texting is.
I have kept journals at different times in my life. And a lot of my early notebooks became places where I would just think on the page, trying to parse what I was feeling, to find out what I was thinking.