So many things I had thought forgotten Return to my mind with stranger pain: Like letters that arrive addressed to someone Who left the house so many years ago.

Sexual intercourse began in 1963 ... / Between the end of the Chatterley ban/ and the Beatles first LP

When I get sent manuscripts from aspiring poets, I do one of two things: if there is no stamped self-addressed envelope, I throw it into the bin.-If there is, I write and tell them to f**k off.

I have no enemies. But my friends don't like me.

Everyone should be forcibly transplanted to another continent from their family at the age of three.

I'm terrified of the thought of time passing (or whatever is meant by that phrase) whether I 'do' anything or not. In a way I may believe, deep down, that doing nothing acts as a brake on 'time's - it doesn't of course. It merely adds the torment of having done nothing, when the time comes when it really doesn't matter if you've done anything or not.

And the case of butterflies so rich it looks As if all summer settled there and died.