"I am pregnant with song. My body aches but do not betray me. I will sing songs and hide them away. I will tear them into bits and throw them in the street. The streets of my city are full of dark holes. I will hide my songs in the holes of the streets."

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I should be glad of loneliness      And hours that go on broken wings,A thirsty body, a tired heart      And the unchanging ache of things,If I could make a single song      As lovely and as full of light,As hushed and brief as a falling star      On a winter night.

— Sara Teasdale