There is no pleasing New Englanders, my dear, their soil is all rocks and their hearts are bloodless absolutes.

So much love, too much love, it is our madness, it is rotting us out, exploding us like dandelion polls.

Hope bases vast premises on foolish accidents, and reads a word where in fact only a scribble exists.

Each day, we wake slightly altered, and the person we were yesterday is dead. So why, one could say, be afraid of death, when death comes all the time?

Dream golf is simply golf played on another course. We chip from glass tables onto moving stairways; we swing in a straightjacket, through masses of cobweb, and awaken not with any sense of unjust hazard but only with a regret that the round can never be completed, and that one of our phantasmal companions has kept the scorecard.

Government money in the arts, I fear, can only deflect artists from their responsibility to find an authentic market for their products.

One of the cool, chaste countries - Canada or Sweden.