It Is My Heart That's Late, It

One Critic Wrote . . . That My Poems Sounded As Though They Had Been Translated From The Hungarian. I Don't Know Why, But Somehow That Made Me Feel Quite Lighthearted.

The Supreme Morality Of Art Is To Endure.

Some Poems Present Themselves As Cliffs That Need To Be Climbed. Others Are So Defensive That When You Approach Their Enclosure You Half Expect To Be Met By A Snarling Dog At The Gate. Still Others Want To Smother You With Their Sticky Charms.

Writer's Block Is A Natural Affliction. Writers Who Have Never Experienced It Have Something Wrong With Them. It Means There Isn't Enough Friction-that They Aren't Making Enough Of An Effort To Reconcile The Contradictions Of Life. All You Get Is Sweet Monotonous Flow. Writer's Block Is Nothing To Commit Suicide Over. It Simply Indicates Some Imbalance Between Your Experience And Your Art, And I Think That's Constructive.

I Can Hardly Wait For Tomorrow, It Means A New Life For Me Each And Every Day.