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

And so we turn the page over. To think of starting. This is all there is.

until only infinity remained of beauty

A perfect example of the new republic's urge to drape itself with the togas of classical respectability.

Somewhere someone is traveling furiously toward you, At incredible speed, traveling day and night.

Poetry comes to me out of thin air or out of my unconscious mind. It's sort of the way dreams come to us and the way that we get knowledge from them, through television, old movies, which I watch a lot of. Lines of dialogue suddenly seem to be part of a poem.

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