It never occurred to me to say no.

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.

I am made, crudely, for success.

What did my arms do before they held you?

Miracles occur, If you dare to call those spasmodic Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again, The long wait for the angel, For that rare, random descent.

The only thing I could think of was turkey neck and turkey gizzards and I felt very depressed.

I had decided I would put off the novel until I had gone to Europe and had a lover.