Hopefully, I write what I don't know..

O love, where are you leading me now?.

Comes the time when it's later and onto your table the headwaiter puts the bill.

My nature is a quagmire of unresolved confessions..

I don’t think any man writing can worry about what the act of writing costs him, even though at times he is very aware of it..

The awful thing, as a kid reading, was that you came to the end of the story, and that was it. I mean, it would be heartbreaking that there was no mo….

The pattern of the narrative never of necessity wants to end, it never has to..

Suddenly the whole imagination of writing and editorial and newspaper and all these presumptions about who am I reading this, and who else other peop….

No matter how wild reality was obviously often being, it was an absolutely secure place, as a tone and intelligence, and a thing happening..

There are a lot of editorials that have nothing to do with anything like that. But I was just thinking of that sense of prose as being very responsib….

Communication is mutual feeling with someone, not a didactic process of information..

I did however used to think, you know, in the woods walking, and as a kid playing in the woods, that there was a kind of immanence there — that woods….

I heard words and words full of holes aching..

For love - I would split open your head and put a candle in behind the eyes..

Form is never more than an extension of content..

What a great thing! To be a writer! Words are something you can carry in your head. You can really 'travel light.'.

Moon, moon, when you leave me alone all the darkness is an utter blackness, a pit of fear, a stench, hands unreasonable never to touch. But I love yo….

Locale is both a geographic term and the inner sense of being..

What has happened makes the world. Live on the edge, looking..

God give you pardon from gratitude and other mild forms of servitude..

My love's manners in bed are not to be discussed by me.