I held her wrists and then I got it through the eyes: hatred, centuries deep and true. I was wrong and graceless and sick. all the things I had learned had been wasted. there was no creature living as foul as I and all my poems were false.
I have seen too many men wilt and go silly under a little light, and then they continue to write and get published, turning out pure crap under a name that has become a bad habit. The next poem is all that counts. You can’t stand on past poems.
Joan of Arc had style. Jesus had style.
Death is not the problem; waiting around for it is.
I grow tired of 18th century moralities in a 20th century space-atomic age.
Each man’s hell is in a different place: mine is just up and behind my ruined face.
Never get out of bed before noon.
We are here to laugh at the odds.
It’s hot tonight and half the neighborhood is drunk. the other half is dead. if I have any advice about writing poetry it’s – don’t. I’m going to send out for some fried chicken.
I was fairly poor but most of my money went for wine and classical music. I loved to mix the two together.
In a capitalistic society the losers slaved for the winners and you have to have more losers than winners.
Most of the world was mad. And the part that wasn’t mad was angry. And the part that wasn’t mad or angry was just stupid. I had no chance. I had no choice. Just hang on and wait for the end. It was hard work. It was the hardest work imaginable.
You can steal my women but don’t play with my whiskey.
We are all museums of fear.
Banion wondered which was worse – being sodomized by aliens, or having to sit through two hours of Charles Ives.
Keep your money in your pocket. Or bet it on a good horse.
I have loved you woman as surely as I have named you rust and sand and nylon.
The worst thing for a writer is to know another writer, and worse than that, to know a number of other writers. Like flies on the same turd.
I suppose like others I have come through fire and sword, love gone wrong, head-on crashes, drunk at sea, and I have listened to the simple sound of water running in tubs and wished to drown.
I remember when each 4th lot was vacant and overgrown, and the landlord only go this rent when you had it, and each day was clear and good and each moment was full of promise.