We are like roses that have never bothered to bloom when we should have bloomed and it is as if the sun has become disgusted with waiting

Fay had a spot of blood on the left side of her mouth and I took a wet cloth and wiped it off. Women were meant to suffer; no wonder they asked for constant declarations of love.

nothing can save you except writing. it keeps the walls from failing.

Real loneliness is not necessarily limited to when you are alone.

Bad luck for the young poet would be a rich father, an early marriage, an early success or the ability to do anything well.

There is no hurry. Time means nothing to you.

There was nothing glorious about the life of a drinker or the life of a writer.