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.

I have never found anybody who could stand to accept the daily demonstrative love I feel in me, and give back as good as I give.

I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the colored arrows from a Fourth of July rocket.

Perhaps, perhaps this would be the one to pull me out of my plunge.

Although, I admit, I desire, Occasionally, some backtalk From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain: A certain minor light may still Lean incandescent Out of kitchen table or chair As if a celestial burning took Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then --

I need some older, wiser being to cry to. I talk to God, but the sky is empty, and Orion walks by and doesn't speak.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my eyes and all is born again.