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

Stupidity always accompanies evil. Or evil, stupidity.

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.

... politics are nothing but sand and gravel: it is art and life that feed us until we die. Everything else is ambition, hysteria or hatred.

I hope that one or two immortal lyrics will come out of all this tumbling around.

Women have no wilderness in them They are provident instead Content in the tight hot cell of their hearts To eat dusty bread.

The measured blood beats out the year's delay.