Then I decided I would spend the summer writing a novel. That would fix a lot of people.

Spiderlike, I spin mirrors, Loyal to my image.

Today is the first of August. It is hot, steamy and wet. It is raining. I am tempted to write a poem. But I remember what it said on one rejection slip: 'After a heavy rainfall, poems titled 'Rain' pour in from across the nation.

I think I may well be a Jew.

Don't let the wicked city get you down.

England offers new comforts. I could write a novel there.

I love people. Everybody. I love them, I think, as a stamp collector loves his collection. Every story, every incident, every bit of conversation is raw material for me.