Poets are always taking the weather so personally. They're always sticking their emotions in things that have no emotions.

If I were God, I certainly wouldn't want people to love me sentimentally. It's too unreliable.

The true poet has no choice of material. The material plainly chooses him, not he it.

I have a feeling that you're riding for some kind of a terrible, terrible fall. But I don't honestly know what kind.... It may be the kind where, at the age of thirty, you sit in some bar hating everybody who comes in looking as if he might have played football in college. Then again, you may pick up just enough education to hate people who say, 'It's a secret between he and I.' Or you may end up in some business office, throwing paper clips at the nearest stenographer. I just don't know.

You don't know how to talk to people you don't like. Don't love, really. You can't live in the world with such strong likes and dislikes.

She was not one for emptying her face of expression.

I felt so lonesome, all of a sudden. I almost wished I was dead.