No more pronouncements on lousy verse. No more hidden competition. No more struggling not to be a square.

I cannot believe that the inscrutable universe turns on an axis of suffering; surely the strange beauty of the world must somewhere rest on pure joy!

No more pronouncements on lousy verse. No more hidden competition. No more struggling not to be a square.

Because language is the carrier of ideas, it is easy to believe that it should be very little else than such a carrier.

I'll lie here and learn How, over their ground, Trees make a long shadow And a light sound.

The fact, and the intuition or logic about the fact, are severe coordinates in fiction. In the short story they must cross with hair-line precision.

A thousand kindnesses do not make up for a thousand blows.