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