I think if I had done anything else I would like to have been a doctor. This is the sort of polar opposition to being a writer, I suppose.

How we need another soul to cling to.

You are a dream; I hope I never meet you.

Not easy to state the change you made. If I'm alive now, I was dead, Though, like a stone, unbothered by it.

There is no life higher than the grasstops

I have let things slip, a thirty-year~old cargo boat Stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.

I want to force myself again and again to leave the warmth and security of static situations and move into the world of growth and suffering where the real books are people's minds and souls.