Once you've lived in France, you don't want to live anywhere else, including France.

To the poet as a basement quilt, but perhaps To some reader a latticework of regrets.

I often wonder if I am suffering from some mental dysfunction because of how weird and baffling my poetry seems to so many people and sometimes to me too.

Part of the strength of Pollock and Rothko's art, in fact, is this doubt as to whether art may be there at all.

I tried each thing, only some were immortal and free.

The first year was like icing. Then the cake started to show through.

Not until it starts to stink does the inevitable happen.