I Remember Coming Upon Philip

These People You Used To See Every Day, Friends Or Acquaintances, After A While They Become As Distant As Any Stranger, People You Suddenly Recall Late At Night--you Remember Something They Said Or Something Silly That Someone Once Did. For A Few Moments They Completely Occupy Your Mind; Then You Forget Them Again.

My Poems Always Begin With A Metaphor, But My Way Into The Metaphor May Be A Word, An Image, Even A Sound. And I Rarely Know The Nature Of The Metaphor When I Begin To Write, But There Is An Attentiveness That A Writer Develops, A Sudden Alertness That Is Much Like The Feel Of A Fish Brushing Against A Hook.

Love Doesn't Need A Reason. Hate Needs A Reason.

Reading A Good Poem Can Give Me A Far Bigger Kick Than A Novel. But It's Not Something I Can Keep Doing. It Would Be Like Shooting Up 10 Times A Day.

When A Philosopher, Scientist, Or Psychologist Discusses The Discrepancy Between The Actual And The Ideal, He Or She Attempts To Convince Us With The Tools Of Discursive Thought ... An Artist Does It Differently ... Their Primary Approach Is Different, Even Though Both Groups, If You Will, Are Investigating The Actual, The Ideal, And The Discrepancy In Between.