Miracles occur, If you dare to call those spasmodic Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again, The long wait for the angel, For that rare, random descent.

If only a group of people were more important to me than the idea of a Novel, I might begin a novel.

I didn't know what I was doing in New York.

Oh, something is there, waiting for me. Perhaps someday the revelation will burst in upon me and I will see the other side of this monumental grotesque joke. And then I'll laugh. And then I'll know what life is.

I find that in a novel I can get more of life, perhaps not such intense life, but certainly more of life than in poetry.

The floor seemed wonderfully solid. It was comforting to know I had fallen and could fall no farther.

Why do we electrocute men for murdering an individual and then pin a purple heart on them for mass slaughter of someone arbitrarily labeled “enemy?