Some people like what you do, some people hate what you do, but most people simply don't give a damn.

They laughed. Things were funny. They weren't afraid to care. There was no sense to life, to the structure of things.

What a weary time those years were -- to have the desire and the need to live but not the ability.

And if there is anybody out there who is crazy enough to want to become a writer, I'd say go ahead, spit in the eye of the sun, hit those keys, it's the best madness going, the centuries need help, the species cry for light and gamble and laughter. Give it to them. There are enough words for all of us.

in the cupboard sits my bottle like a dwarf waiting to scratch out my prayers. I drink and cough like some idiot at a symphony, sunlight and maddened birds are everywhere, the phone rings gamboling its sound against the odds of the crooked sea; I drink deeply and evenly now, I drink to paradise and death and the lie of love.

Existence was not only absurd, it was plain hard work. Think of how many times you put on your underwear in a lifetime. It was appalling, it was disgusting, it was stupid.

that your power of command with simple language was one of the magnificent things of our century. (from the poem: result)