Wonder. Go on and wonder.

How do our lives ravel out into the no-wind, no-sound, the weary gestures wearily recapitulant: echoes of old compulsions with no-hand on no-string: in sunset we fall into furious attitudes, dead gestures of dolls.

I could smell the curves of the river beyond the dusk and I saw the last light supine and tranquil upon tideflats like pieces of broken mirror, then beyond them lights began in the pale clear air, trembling a little like butterflies hovering a long way off.

A bus station is where a bus stops. A train station is where a train stops. On my desk, I have a work station….

Menfolks listens to somebody because of what he says. Women don't. They don't care what he said. They listens because of what he is.

The only thing worth writing about is the human heart in conflict with itself

You can't beat women anyhow and that if you are wise or dislike trouble and uproar you don't even try to.