I was laying in bed one night and I thought 'I'll just quit - to hell with it.' And another little voice inside me said 'Don't quit - save that tiny little ember of spark.' And never give them that spark because as long as you have that spark, you can start the greatest fire again.

Those faces you see every day on the streets were not created entirely without hope: be kind to them: like you they have not escaped.

If I hadn't been a drunkard, I probably would have committed suicide long ago.

I was glad I wasn't in love, that I wasn't happy with the world. I like being at odds with everything. People in love often become edgy, dangerous. They lose their sense of perspective. They lose their sense of humor. They become nervous, psychotic bores. They even become killers.

In New York you've got to have all the luck.

Each man's hell is in a different place: mine is just up and behind my ruined face.

To me Art (poetry) is a continuous and continuing process and that when a man fails to write good poetry he fails to live fully or well.