Freud was way off base in considering sex the fundamental motivation. The ruling passion in men is minding each other's business.
My definition of poetry (if I were forced to give one) would be this: words that have become deeds.
I'm not confused. I'm just well mixed.
I hold it to be the inalienable right of anybody to go to hell in his own way.
The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day.
He says the best way out is always through. / And I can agree to that, or in so far / As that I can see no way out but through