The years have gone by quickly. Death sits in the seat next to me. We make a lovely couple.

Some people never go crazy, What truly horrible lives they must live.

I never pump up my vulgarity. I wait for it to arrive in its own terms.

the writing of some men is like a vast bridge that carries you over the many things that claw and tear. The Wine of Forever

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

The wisdom to quit is all we have left.

Unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket, unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder, don't do it. unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don't do it. when it is truly time, and if you have been chosen, it will do it by itself and it will keep on doing it until you die or it dies in you. there is no other way. and there never was.