My Worst Habit Is My

For Me, Poetry Is An Evasion Of The Real Job Of Writing Prose.

As A Poet, One Lives A Bit On Air. I Always Like Someone Who Can Teach Me Something Practical.

Life Has Been Some Combination Of Fairy-tale Coincidence And Joie De Vivre And Shocks Of Beauty Together With Some Hurtful Self-questioning.

And The Danger Is That In This Move Toward New Horizons And Far Directions, That I May Lose What I Have Now, And Not Find Anything Except Loneliness

Living With Him Is Like Being Told A Perpetual Story: His Mind Is The Biggest, Most Imaginative I Have Ever Met. I Could Live In Its Growing Countries Forever.