I often stood in front of the mirror alone, wondering how ugly a person could get.
I want so much that is not here and do not know where to go.
I have two rules. One is, never trust a man who smokes a pipe. The other is, never trust a man with shiny shoes.
Poetry is what happens when nothing else can.
Lawyers, doctors, plumbers, they all made the money. Writers? Writers starved. Writers suicided. Writers went mad.
I suppose like others I have come through fire and sword, love gone wrong, head-on crashes, drunk at sea, and I have listened to the simple sound of water running in tubs and wished to drown