Sure, you make money writing on the coast ... but that money is like so much compressed snow. It goes so fast it melts in your hand.

Misfortune, and recited misfortune especially, can be prolonged to the point where it ceases to excite pity and arouses only irritation.

My verses, I cannot say poems. . . . I was following in the exquisite footsteps of Miss Millay, unhappily in my own horrible sneakers.

I like to think of my shining tombstone. It gives me, as you might say, something to live for.

If you're going to write, don't pretend to write down. It's going to be the best you can do, and it's the fact that it's the best you can do that kills you.

Ah, clear they see and true they say That one shall weep, and one shall stray

Some men break your heart in two, Some men fawn and flatter, Some men never look at you; And that cleans up the matter.