I never change, I simply become more myself.

I've never given up. I've always kept going. I don't feel that I could afford to give up. That would be the beginning of the end.

When you are writing literary writing, you are communicating something subtextual with emotions and poetry. The prose has to have a voice; it's not just typing. It takes a while to get that voice.

The institution of marriage is just formalizing an emotion, an attempt to make it seem permanent. The emotion will last or it won't last; nothing can guarantee it.

Running! If there's any activity happier, more exhilarating, more nourishing to the imagination, I can't think what it might be. In running the mind flies with the body; the mysterious efflorescence of language seems to pulse in the brain, in rhythm with our feet and the swinging of our arms.

Is there any mystery like who you finally turn out to be.

How does the poet transform his banal thoughts (are not most thoughts banal?) into such stunning forms, into beauty?