I think you write only out of a great trouble. A trouble of excitement, a trouble of enlargement, a trouble of displacement in yourself.
Anybody who's against birth control and abortion has to be a criminal idiot.
Doubt remains a luxury I won't do without.
How smartly September comes in, like a racing gig, all style, no confusion.
Even the stupidest cat seems to know more than any dog.
If you don't love life you can't enjoy an oyster; there is a shock of freshness to it and intimations of the ages of man, some piercing intuition of the sea and all its weeds and breezes. [They] shiver you for a split second.