History Is Where Tensions Were.

When In Still Air And Still In Summertime A Leaf Has Had Enough Of This, It Seems To Make Up Its Mind To Go; Fine As A Sage Its Drifting In Detachment Down The Road.

Writing Is Like The Relationship With Your Bowels. First You Can, Then You Can't. Finally, You Must. Only Then Should You Reach For The Paper.

I Am Not At All Clear What Free Verse Is Anymore. That's One Of The Things You Learn Not To Know.

Occasionally A Student Writer Comes Up With Something Really Beautiful And Moving, And You Won't Know For Years If It Was An Accident Or The First Burst Of Something Wonderful.

Children, To Be Illustrious Is Sad.