“How are his poems?""He's not as good as he thinks he is, but then most of us feel that way.”

“But then if you lied to a man about his talent just because he was sitting across from you, that was the most unforgivable lie of them all, because that was telling him to go on, to continue which was the worst way for a man without real talent to waste his life, finally. But many people did just that, friends and relatives mostly.”

“Yes Yeswhen God created love he didn't help most when God created dogs He didn't help dogs when God created plants that was average when God created hate we had a standard utility when God created me He created me when God created the monkey He was asleep when He created the giraffe He was drunk when He created narcotics He was high and when He created suicide He was low when He created you lying in bed He knew what He was doing He was drunk and He was high and He created the mountains and the sea and fire at the same time He made some mistakes but when He created you lying in bed He came all over His Blessed Universe.”

“I like the way Mahler wandered about in his music and still retained hispassion. He must have looked like anearthquake walking down the street.”

“i g l o o his name was Eddie and he had abig white dogwith a curly taila huskielike one of those that pulled sleighsup near the north poleIgloo he called himand Eddie had a bow and arrowand every week or twohe'd send an arrowinto the dog's sidethen run into his mother's housethrough the yelpingsaying that Igloo had fallen onthe arrow.that dog took quite a few arrows andmanaged tosurvivebut I saw what really happened and didn'tlike Eddie very much.so when I broke Eddie's legin a sandlot football gamethat was my way of getting evenfor Igloo.his parents threatened to sue myparentsclaiming I did it on purpose becausethat's what Eddietold them.well, nobody had any money anyhowand when Eddie's father got a jobin San Diegothey moved away and left thedog.we took him in.Igloo turned out to be rather dumbdid not respond to very muchhad no life or joy in himjust stuck out his tonguepantedslept most of the timewhen he wasn't eatingand although he wiped his assup and down the lawn afterdefecatinghe usually had a large fragrant smear ofbrownunder his tailwhen he was run over by anicecream truck3 or 4 months laterand died in a stream of scarletI didn't feel more than theusual amount of griefand lossand I was still glad that Ihad managed tobreak Eddie's leg.”

“Christmas poem to a man in jailhello Bill Abbott:I appreciate your passing around my books injail there, my poems and stories.if I can lighten the load for some of those guys withmy books, fine.but literature, you know, is difficult for theaverage man to assimilate (and for the unaverage man too);I don't like most poetry, for example,so I write mine the way I like to read it.”

“one day Manuel returned to the place, andshe was gone - no argument, no note, justgone, all her clothesall her stuff, andManuel sat by the window and looked outand didn't make his jobthe next day or thenext day orthe day after, hedidn't phone in, helost his job, got aticket for parking, smokedfour hundred and sixty cigarettes, gotpicked up for common drunk, bailedout, wentto court and pleadedguilty.when the rent was up he moved from Beacon street, heleft the cat and went to live with his brother andthey'd get drunkevery nightand talk about how terriblelife was.Manuel never again smokedlong slim cigarsbecause Shirley always saidhowhandsome he lookedwhen he did.”