I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a hap...
I cry at everything. Simply to spite myself and embarrass myself.
But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defenseless that I couldn't do it. It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn't in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped...
I have a visual imagination.
LoreleiIt is no night to drown in:A full moon, river lapsingBlack beneath bland mirror-sheen,The blue water-mists droppingScrim after scrim like fishnetsThough fishermen are sleeping,The massive castl...
The tongues of hell are dull.
And I knew that in spite of all the roses and kisses and restaurant dinners a man showered on a woman before he married her, what he secretly wanted was for her to flatten out underneath his feet like...
I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the colored arrows from a Fourth of July rocket.
The human mind is so limited it can only build an arbitrary heaven — and usually the physical comforts they endow it with are naively the kind that can be perceived as we humans perceive — nothing mor...
So many people are shut up tight inside themselves like boxes, yet they would open up, unfolding quite wonderfully, if only you were interested in them.()
Only I wasn't steering anything, not even myself.
I am too pure for you or anyone.
I am terrified by this dark thingThat sleeps in me;All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.
Clouds pass and disperse.Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables?Is it for such I agitate my heart?
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.
In London the day after Christmas (Boxing Day), it began to snow: my first snow in England. For five years, I had been tactfully asking, 'Do you ever have snow at all?' as I steeled myself to the six...
Poetry, I feel, is a tyrannical discipline. You've got to go so far so fast in such a small space; you've got to burn away all the peripherals.
I am helpless as the sea at the end of her string. I am restless. Restless and useless. I, too, create corpses.
What a man wants is a mate and what a woman wants is infinite security,’ and, ‘What a man is is an arrow into the future and a what a woman is is the place the arrow shoots off from.
The only reason I remembered this play was because it had a mad person in it, and everything I had ever read about mad people stuck in my mind, while everything else flew out.