Shakespeare tells the same stories over and over in so many guises that it takes a long time before you notice.

Both poet and painter want to reach the silence behind the language, the silence within the language. Both painter and poet want their work to shine not only in daylight but (by whatever illusionist magic) from within.

The spirit world doesn't admit to communicating with me, so it's fairly even.

Once in awhile you have a thought, and you rhyme it.

For a Jewish Puritan of the middle class, the novel is serious, the novel is work, the novel is conscientious application why, the novel is practically the retail business all over again.

I would talk in iambic pentameter if it were easier.

Short stories amount for the most part to parlour tricks, party favours with built-in snappers, gadgets for including recognition and reversals