I Sometimes Talk About The Making Of

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.

It May Be Said That Poems Are In One Way Like Icebergs: Only About A Third Of Their Bulk Appears Above The Surface Of The Page.

History Is One Of Those Marvelous And Necessary Illusions We Have To Deal With. It's One Of The Ways Of Dealing With Our World With Impossible Generalities Which We Couldn't Live Without.

Both Poet And Painter Want To Reach The Silence Behind The Language, The Silence Within The Language. Both Painter And Poet Want Their Work To Shine Not Only In Daylight But (by Whatever Illusionist Magic) From Within.

The Only Way Out Is The Way Through, Just As You Cannot Escape Death Except By Dying. Being Unable To Write, You Must Examine In Writing This Being Unable, Which Becomes For The Present -henceforth?- The Subject To Which You Are Condemned.