When one's not writing poems - and I'm not at the moment - you wonder how you ever did it. It's like another country you can't reach.

a poet never feels useful.

I suppose I have written novels to find out what I thought about something and poems to find out what I felt about something.

I feel like an inadequate machine, a machine that breaks down at crucial moments, grinds to a dreadful hault, 'won't go,' or, even worse, explodes in some innocent person's face.

A holiday gives one a chance to look backward and forward; to reset oneself by an inner compass.

The minute one utters a certainty, the opposite comes to mind.

A house that does not have one warm, comfy chair in it is soulless.