I had removed my patent leather shoes after a while, for they foundered badly in the sand. It pleased me to think they would be perched there on the silver log, pointing out to sea, like a sort of soul-compass, after I was dead.

Talking about my fears to others feeds it.

Character is fate.

I have a violence in me that is hot as death-blood.

As a poet I would say everything should be able to come into a poem but I can't put toothbrushes in a poem. I really can't.

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

What is so real as the cry of a child?