The things that I dislike passionately, I have come to realize, are also part of me.

I want, I want, I want! We never grow out of it somehow. Unless we become Buddhists, maybe.

No one, evidently, except me has found "No Alarms" poem ironical that an obsessive theme in my writing was - and has continued to be - not being able to write.

Writing a poem is unwriting a knot, like untying a shoelace that is clubbing your foot.

Wouldn't that be wonderful if I could do that? And that way, I could walk with the muse, rather than walk without her. The novel would write itself.

My brothers were my peers, but they were not the preeminent male figures in my emotional life.

If I could write a novel while I'm walking, I probably would.