The world is absolutely out of control now and is not going to be saved by any reason or unreason.

Middle Age At forty-five, What next, what next? At every corner, I meet my Father, My age, still alive.

The world is absolutely out of control now and is not going to be saved by any reason or unreason.

If youth is a defect, it is one we outgrow too soon.

It's the light of the oncoming train.

I want to apologize for plaguing you with so many telephone calls last November and December. When the 'enthusiasm' is coming on me it is accompanied by a feverish reaching out to my friends. After its over I wince and wither.

Poetry is not the record of an event: it is an event.