There is sweet music here that softer falls
Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
Or night-dews on still waters between walls
Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass.
If I had to bleed to save them, I would do it. I would die to do it, like the third wife. I had no silver dagger in my hand, but I would find a way.
”I’m asked all the time in interviews about who I am, and I know a few people my age who have a strong sense of self, but I couldn’t say I know myself and sum it up and give it to you in a little package. I don’t know myself at all yet.”