In the midst of our happiness we were very pleased.
A work of art is never completed, merely abandoned.
How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?
Writing is easy. All you have to do is cross out the wrong words.
Keep your eye clear and hit ’em where they ain’t.
For me the initial delight is in the surprise of remembering something I didn’t know I already knew.
I like restraint—if doesn’t go too far.
Poetry is a dream dreamed in the presence of reason.
There is only one plot: Things are not what they seem.
Let’s play two.
The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe.
The art of running the mile consists, in essence, of reaching the threshold of consciousness at the instant of breasting the tape.
Poetry begins where certitude ends.