I thought how strange it had never occurred to me before that I was only purely happy until I was nine years old.

If I rest, if I think inward, I go mad.

I thought the most beautiful thing in the world must be shadow, the million moving shapes and cul-de-sacs of shadow. There was shadow in bureau drawers and closets and suitcases, and shadow under houses and trees and stones, and shadow at the back of people's eyes and smiles, and shadow, miles and miles and miles of it, on the night side of the earth.

As a poet I would say everything should be able to come into a poem but I can't put toothbrushes in a poem. I really can't.

I would catch sight of some flawless man off in the distance, but as soon as he moved closer I immediately saw he wouldn’t do at all.

Let me live, love and say it well in good sentences.

I want to kill myself, to escape from responsiblity, to crawl abjectly back into the womb.