Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little? For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that - I love life. But it is hard, and I have so much - so very much to learn.

But life is long. And it is the long run that balances the short flare of interest and passion.

The floor seemed wonderfully solid. It was comforting to know I had fallen and could fall no farther.

I hate handing over money to people for doing what I could just as easily do myself, it makes me nervous.

I think the coming of spring, the stars overhead, the first snowfall and so on are gifts for a child, a young poet.

I think I am worthwhile just because I have optical nerves and can try to put down what they perceive. What a fool!

The thing about writing is not to talk, but to do it; no matter how bad or even mediocre it is, the process and production is the thing, not the sitting and theorizing about how one should write ideally, or how well one could write if one really wanted to or had the time.