Something unpronounceable followed by a long silence points out my life is becoming a landscape.

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

the wasting of time is the most personal, most private, most intimate form of conversation with oneself, as well as with another.

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.

Yes, the mistrust of poetry has a long history, for a variety of reasons, but they all come down to sentiment and invention over fact and truth. Figurative language is suspicious.

It is the first experience you ever had of reading a decent poem: 'Oh, somebody else is lonely, too!

Something unpronounceable followed by a long silence points out my life is becoming a landscape.