I want to write because I have the urge to excel in one medium of translation and expression of life. I can't be satisfied with the colossal job of merely living. Oh, no, I must order life in sonnets and sestinas and provide a verbal reflector for my 60-watt lighted head.

The silence between us was so profound I thought part of it must be my fault.

If I have a dry spell ... I wait and live harder, eyes, ears, and heart open, and when the productive time comes, it is that much richer.

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

Let me sit in a flowerpot, The spiders won't notice. My heart is a stopped geranium.

If you pluck out my heart To find what makes it move, You’ll halt the clock That syncopates our love.

I don't know how long I kept at it... I felt reasonably safe, streched out on the floor, and lay quite still. It didn't seem to be summer any more