A dream is the mind's way of answering a question it hasn't yet figured out how to ask.

Feelings come and go, unless you don't feel them. Then they stay, and hurt, and grow pear-shaped and weird.

I'm not reading currently because I'm getting revisions of a novel. If I read while I'm writing I will unconsciously plagiarize and go to jail.

It's always like you write a poem when you can't really say what you're trying to say.

Our human nature is exactly the same as it was 500 years ago, let alone five years ago.

I think it was W.H. Auden who said he was lucky that his first favorite poet was Thomas Hardy, who was a good but not a great poet, because if you are exposed to the greats too soon it can just squash you as a writer.

My entire life has been an attempt to get back to the kind of feelings you have on a field. The sense of brotherhood, the esprit de corps, the focus - there being no past or future, just the ball. As trite as it sounds, I was happiest playing ball.