The only way out is the way through, just as you cannot escape death except by dying. Being unable to write, you must examine in writing this being unable, which becomes for the present -henceforth?- the subject to which you are condemned.

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

When I was starting to write, the great influence was T.S. Eliot and after that William Butler Yeats.

When modern writers gave up telling stories, they gave up the greatest thing we had.

Why are stamps adorned with kings and presidents? That we may lick their hinder parts and thump their heads.

Religion and science both profess peace (and the sincerity of the professors is not being doubted), but each always turns out to have a dominant part in any war that is going or contemplated.

Till I, high in the tower of my time Among familiar ruins, began to cry For accident, sickness, justice, war and crime, Because all died, because I had to die. The snow fell, the trees stood, the promise kept, And a child I slept.