We Must Travel In The Direction Of

I Think That What Happens In My Poetic Work In The Future Will Depend On My Being Knocked In The Face, And Thrown Flat, And Given Cancer, And All Kinds Of Other Things Short Of Senile Dementia.

This World Is Gradually Becoming A Place Where I Do Not Care To Be Any More.

We Have Reason To Be Afraid. This Is A Terrible Place.

Life, Friends, Is Boring. We Must Not Say So.

You Should Always Be Trying To Write A Poem You Are Unable To Write, A Poem You Lack The Technique, The Language, The Courage To Achieve. Otherwise You're Merely Imitating Yourself, Going Nowhere, Because That's Always Easiest.