Love is an adventure and a conquest. It survives and develops, like the universe itself, only by perpetual discovery.
We have to consciously study how to be tender with each other until it becomes a habit because what was native has been stolen from us, the love of Black women for each other.
Could we forbear dispute, and practise love, We should agree as angels do above.
Truth is so obscure in these times, and falsehood so established, that, unless we love the truth, we cannot know it.
Love and dignity cannot share the same abode.
I love painting and music, of course. I don’t know nearly as much about them as I know about poetry. I’ve certainly been influenced by fiction. I was overwhelmed by War and Peace when I read it, and I didn’t read it until I was in my late 20s.
Have you not noticed that love is silence? It may be while holding the hand of another, or looking lovingly at a child, or taking in the beauty of an evening. Love has no past or future, and so it is with this extraordinary state of silence.
I love form, but I’m not interested in forms. I’ve never written a sonnet or villanelle or sestina or any of that. For me, it’s a kind of line. It’s a rhythm. It’s something musical.
Love and death are the two great hinges on which all human sympathies turn.
There is a silence, the child of love, which expresses everything, and proclaims more loudly than the tongue is able to do.