I have committed many sins in my life. This precise sin-the sin against poets-is without absolution.

My memories pale as I prevail upon them again and again. They become more and more ghostly. I fear nothing so much as losing them altogether and having only my blank endless mind to live in.

Poems have ideas. The ideas of poems come out of their emotions and their emotions are carried on images.

A novelist is a person who lives in other people's skins.

There is music in words, and it can be heard you know, by thinking.

Writers are not just people who sit down and write. They hazard themselves. Every time you compose a book your composition of yourself is at stake.

Dad is always hiding in his book.