The Poets Whom I Knew Then Were

Reread, Rewrite, Reread, Rewrite. If It Still Doesn't Work, Throw It Away. It's A Nice Feeling, And You Don't Want To Be Cluttered With The Corpses Of Poems And Stories Which Have Everything In Them Except The Life They Need.

Mourning Ruby Is Not A Flat Landscape: It Is More Like A Box With Pictures Painted On Every Face. And Each Face Is Also A Door Which Opens, I Hope, To Take The Reader Deep Into The Book.

It Is A Violation Which Has Obsessed The Tyrants Of The Twentieth Century. They Do Not Want Simply To Kill Their Opponents, But To Liquidate Them, To Deny That They Have Ever Existed.

Writing Children's Books Gives A Writer A Very Strong Sense Of Narrative Drive.

The Poets Whom I Knew Then Were All Men And All Seemed Dauntingly Sure Of Themselves - Although I Am Sure That Really They Were As Uncertain As I Was.