The silence drew off, baring the pebbles and shells and all the tatty wreckage of my life.

That afternoon my mother had brought me the roses. "Save them for my funeral," I'd said.

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

I don't know what started me, I just wrote poetry from the time was quite small. I guess I liked nursery rhymes and I guess I thought I could do the same thing. I wrote my first poem, my first published poem, when I was eight-and-a-half years old. It came out in The Boston Traveller and from then on, I suppose, I've been a bit of a professional.

I need not to be more with others, but to be more & more deeply, richly alone. Recreating worlds.

I tried to speak in a cool, calm way, but the zombie rose up in my throat and choked me off.

The more hopeless you were, the further away they hid you.