It began as a mistake.

there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I'm too clever, I only let him out at night sometimes when everybody's asleep. I say, I know that you're there, so don't be sad. then I put him back, but he's singing a little in there, I haven't quite let him die and we sleep together like that with our secret pact and it's nice enough to make a man weep, but I don't weep, do you?

not writing is not good but trying to write when you can't is worse.

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

Humanity, you never had it to begin with.

But she projected vitality - you knew that she was there.

‎"she’ mad but she’ magic. there’ no lie in her fire.