I hated childhood / I hate adulthood / And I love being alive.

In our marginal existence, what else is there but this voice within us, this great weirdness we are always leaning forward to listen to?

In the end I would rather wonder than know

Poetry is sentimental to begin with. To write a sentimental poem is an act of redundancy.

Every time it starts to snow, I would like to have sex.

We are all one question, and the best answer seems to be love—a connection between things.

Every creative act is an act of hypocrisy and violence. You may have to think about it for a while, but I am sure you can discover your own.