Let it die. Let there be a new beginning. It’s awful. Goodnight.

I could see the road ahead of me. I was poor and I was going to stay poor. But I didn't particularly want money. I didn't know what I wanted. Yes, I did. I wanted someplace to hide out, someplace where one didn't have to do anything. The thought of being something didn't only appall me, it sickened me . . . To do things, to be part of family picnics, Christmas, the 4th of July, Labor Day, Mother's Day . . . was a man born just to endure those things and then die? I would rather be a dishwasher, return alone to a tiny room and drink myself to sleep.

How are his poems?" "He's not as good as he thinks he is, but then most of us feel that way.

I am aware that a computer can’t create a poem, but neither can a typewriter.

I am a poem. There is no way out.

It’s nice enough to make a man weep, but I don’t weep, do you?

The more cats you have, the longer you live. If you have a hundred cats, you'll live ten times longer than if you have ten. Someday this will be discovered, and people will have a thousand cats and live forever.