As a recluse I couldn't bear traffic. It had nothing to do with jealousy, I simply disliked people, crowds, anywhere, except at my readings. People diminished me, they sucked me dry.

Beauty is nothing, beauty won’t stay. You don’t know how lucky you are to be ugly, because if people like you, you know it’s for something else.

I don't think I have written a poem when I was completely sober. But I have written a few good ones or a few bad ones under the hammer of a black hangover when I didn't know whether another drink or a blade would be the best thing.

All a guy needed was a chance. Somebody was alway controlling who got a chance and who didn't.

Trouble and pain were what kept a man alive. Or trying to avoid trouble and pain. It was a full time job.

This incompleteness is all we have.

I could read the great books but the great books don't interest me.