There is good and mediocre writing within every genre.

In the evenings there's been thunder, a distant bumping and stumbling, like God on a sullen binge.

A truth should exist, it should not be used like this. If I love you is that a fact or a weapon?

Science fiction, to me, has not only things that wouldn't happen, but other planets.

Walking was not fast enough, so we ran. Running was not fast enough, so we galloped. Galloping was not fast enough, so we sailed. Sailing was not fast enough, so we rolled merrily along on long metal tracks. Long metal tracks were not fast enough, so we drove. Driving was not fast enough, so we flew. Flying isn't fast enough for us. We want to get there faster. Get where? Wherever we are not. But a human soul can only go as fast as a man can walk, they used to say. In that case, where are all the souls? Left behind.

I feel that the task of criticizing my poetry is best left to others (i.e. critics) and would much rather have it take place after I am dead. If at all.

We shouldn't have been so scornful; we should have had compassion. But compassion takes work, and we were young.