And I, love, am a pathological liar.

So much working, reading, thinking, living to do! A lifetime is not long enough.

I like people too much or not at all. I've got to go down deep, to fall into people, to really know them.

I don’t care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.

Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.

I think my poems immediately come out of the sensuous and emotional experiences I have, but I must say I cannot sympathise with these cries from the heart that are informed by nothing except a needle or a knife, or whatever it is.

What I fear most, I think, is the death of the imagination.