The only people who still read poetry are poets, and they mostly read their own.

Perhaps it's a good time to reconsider pleasure at its roots. Changing out of wet shoes and socks, for instance.

The only people who still read poetry are poets, and they mostly read their own.

Visiting is a pleasure; being visited is usually a mixed or ambivalent joy. ... The visitor can always go home; the visitee is already home, trapped like a rat in a drainpipe.

Our Revolution was born and raised in taverns.

a woman may be called a wife and mother for most of her life, while a man is called a husband and father only at his funeral.

To extract the fullest flavor of our drinking house, we needed to spend serious evening time there, slowly coming to know the bartender and the regulars, their joys and sorrows.