our bones like stems into the sky will forever cry victory

Her eyes always had a frantic, lost look. He could never cure her eyes of that.

Beware of those who seek constant crowds; they are nothing alone.

be it peace or happiness let it enfold you

I can't think of any poet-recluses outside of one dead Jeffers. [Robinson Jeffers] The rest of them want to slobber over each other and hug each other. It appears to me that I am the last of the poet-recluses.

If you can hit a guy once, you can hit him twice.

They have no idea that it can be done by a bus driver, a field hand, or a fry cook. They have no idea where it comes from. It comes from pain, damnation and impossibility. The blow to the soul of the gut. It comes from getting burned and seared and slugged. It comes from...new and awful places and the same old places.