This is what drives a young writer out of his head, this feeling that nothing is being said.

It is the heart of man that I am trying to imply in this work.

Babies who have not yet been taught to speak any language are the only race of the earth, the race of man: all the rest is pretence, what we call civilization,…

I have a faint idea what it is like to be alive.

We always had a vision, but we weren't sure if it would translate or just come off as pretentious, we were playing basements, and Gerard would be like straight…

You either do it quietly and describe the Indian community in half a dozen poems or you think sod it, and go all out. The most Indian way I could think of was …

The more I write the less substance do I see in my work, ... It is tolerably awful. And I face it, I face it but the fright is growing on me. My fortitude is s…