I hated childhood / I hate adulthood / And I love being alive.
It is the first experience you ever had of reading a decent poem: 'Oh, somebody else is lonely, too!
There is a world which poets cannot seem to enter. It is the world everybody else lives in. And the only thing poets seem to have in common is their yearning to enter this world.
In the end I would rather wonder than know
I like to read because it kills me.
I remember I was a child, and when I grew up I was a poet. It all happened at sixty miles an hour and on days when the clock stopped and all of humanity fit into a little chapel, into a pinecone, a shot of ouzo, a snail's shell, a piece of soggy rye on the pavement.