I held her wrists and then I got it through the eyes: hatred, centuries deep and true. I was wrong and graceless and sick. all the things I had learned had been wasted. there was no creature living as foul as I and all my poems were false.

I guess we often get the deep blues, both of us, and wonder what it all means- the people, the buildings, the day by day things, the waste of time, of ourselves.

Those who preach god, need god Those who preach peace do not have peace Those who preach love do not have love

Not everybody thought they could be a dentist or an automobile mechanic but everybody knew they could be a writer.

If you have the ability to love, love yourself first.

mercy, I think, doesn't the human race know anything about mercy?

Intellectuals say simple things in difficult ways. Artists say difficult things in simple ways.