Suspect each moment, for it is a thief, tiptoeing away with more than it brings.

I would especially like to recourt the Muse of poetry, who ran off with the mailman four years ago, and drops me only a scribbled postcard from time to time.

When I write, I aim in my mind not toward New York but toward a vague spot a little to the east of Kansas.

The refusal to rest content, the willingness to risk excess on behalf of one's obsessions, is what distinguishes artists from entertainers, and what makes some…