The poor South. Already guilty of slavery, it became guilty of cigarettes.

poetry ... shows with a sudden intense clarity what is already there.

I don't feel like a survivor. I feel left behind.

I always return to Paris, taking my selves along - past self, customary self, the self I never had.

I had a perfect confidence, still unshaken, in books. If you read enough you would reach the point of no return. You would cross over and arrive on the safe side. There you would drink the strong waters and become addicted, perhaps demented - but a Reader.

nobody alive or dead deserves to be called a poetess.

The poor South. Already guilty of slavery, it became guilty of cigarettes.