We've always had a tradition in America of hounding our artists to death. Look at the list of our great artists, you see a continual history of defeat, frustration, poverty, alcoholism, drug addiction. The best poets of my generation are all suicides.

You are bound, my hunch is, to make it just fine.

So much destruction in modern war takes place miles and miles away from the source of the destruction, the human being who has caused it.

To be precise and reckless: that is the consummation devoutly to be wished.

Detachment produces a peculiar state of mind. Maybe that's the worst sentence of all, to be deprived of feeling what a human being ought to be entitled to feel.

The true feeling of sex is that of a deep intimacy, but above all of a deep complicity.

I want you to hear a new version of Dueling Banjos. Anyone else is welcome.