Middle Age At Forty-five, What

Pity The Planet, All Joy Gone From This Sweet Volcanic Cone

It Is Night, And It Is Vanity, And Age Blackens The Heart Of Adam. Fear, The Yellow Chirper, Beaks Its Cage.

It's A Completely Powerful And Serious Book, As Good As Anything In Prose Or Poetry Written By A 'beat' Writer, And One Of The Most Alive Books Written By Any American For Years. I Don't See How It Could Be Considered Immoral.

I'm Sure That Writing Isn't A Craft, That Is, Something For Which You Learn The Skills And Go On Turning Out. It Must Come From Some Deep Impulse, Deep Inspiration. That Can't Be Taught, It Can't Be What You Use In Teaching.

If Youth Is A Defect, It Is One We Outgrow Too Soon.