People in love often become edgy, dangerous. They lose their sense of perspective.

we know God is dead, they've told us, but listening to you I wasn't sure.

The poet, as a rule, is a half-man - a sissy, not a real person, and he is in no shape to lead real men in matters of blood, or courage.

Some people have written that my writing has helped them go on. It has helped me too. The writing, the roses, the 9 cats.

the people are the biggest horror show on earth, have been for centuries.

A woman is a full time job. You have to choose your profession.

Thanksgiving. It proved you had survived another year with its wars, inflation, unemployment, smog, presidents. It was a grand neurotic gathering of clans: loud drunks, grandmothers, sisters, aunts, screaming children, would-be suicides. And don't forget indigestion. I wasn't different from anyone else: There sat the 18-pound bird on my sink, dead, plucked, totally disemboweled. Iris would roast it for me.