But for the present I would lie there and know I didn't have to get up, and feel the holy emptiness and blessed fatigue of a saint after the dark night of the soul. For God and Nothing have a lot in common. You look either one of Them straight in the eye for a second and the immediate effect on the human constitution is the same.

And all times are one time, and all those dead in the past never lived before our definition gives them life, and out of the shadow their eyes implore us. That is what all of us historical researchers believe. And we love truth.

How do poems grow? They grow out of your life.

Nobody had ever told me that anything could be like this.

There is nothing more alone than being in a car at night in the rain.

The urge to write poetry is like having an itch. When the itch becomes annoying enough, you scratch it.

Real writers are those who want to write, need to write, have to write.