I didn't really see why people should look at me. Plenty of people looked queerer than I did.
Like a cat I have nine times to die.
The claw of the magnolia, drunk on its own scents, asks nothing of life.
The one man in the room who was as big as his poems, huge, with hulk and dynamic chunks of words.
It is so much safer not to feel, not to let the world touch me.
I feel that very strongly: having been an academic, having been tempted by the invitation to stay on to become a Ph.D., a professor, and all that, one side of me certainly does respect all disciplines, as long as they don't ossify.