My father took me back home, back to Greenwich Village, and he thought by taking me out of the orphanage he'd be out of the World War too. But no way - they got him anyway. He went in the Navy and then I lived on the streets.

If you believe you're a poet, then you're saved.

It is a great feeling to know that from a window I can go to books to cans of beer to past loves. And from these gather enough dream to sneak out a back door.

My father took me back home, back to Greenwich Village, and he thought by taking me out of the orphanage he'd be out of the World War too. But no way - they got him anyway. He went in the Navy and then I lived on the streets.

I remember the people I knew in prison; I was very fortunate to know them - they came from 1910, 1920, 1930.

The fall of man stands a lie before Beethoven, a truth before Hitler.

Ah, if I were dictator I'd have poets throwing bombs!