I think that what happens in my poetic work in the future will depend on my being knocked in the face, and thrown flat, and given cancer, and all kinds of other things short of senile dementia.

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.

This world is gradually becoming a place Where I do not care to be any more.

One must be ruthless with one's own writing or someone else will be.

something has been said for sobriety but very little.

I am so wise I had my mouth sewn shut.

I conclude now I have no inner resources, because I am heavy bored. Peoples bore me, literature bores me, especially great literature.