That is our ‘pointed task. Love & die.

Offering Dragons quarter is no good, they regrow all their parts and come on again. They have to be killed.

These Songs are not meant to be understood, you understand. They are only meant to terrify & comfort.

Wishin' was dyin' but I gotta make it all this way to that bed on these feet.

Praise will lead you to vanity, and blame will lead you to self-pity, and both are bad for writers.

Them lady poets must not marry, pal.

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.