“After some years of varied experience with the bodies of the rich and the poor a man finds little to distinguish between them, bulks them as one and bases his working judgements on other matters.”

“Writing is not a searching about in the daily experience for apt similes and pretty thoughts and images… It is not a conscious recording of the day’s experiences ‘freshly and with the appearance of reality’… The writer of imagination would find himself released from observing things for the purpose of writing them down later. He would be there to enjoy, to taste, to engage the free world, not a world which he carries like a bag of food, always fearful lest he drop something or someone get more than he.”

“And yet one arrives somehow, finds himself loosening the hooks of her dress in a strange bedroom-- feels the autumn dropping its silk and linen leaves about her ankles. The tawdry veined body emerges twisted upon itself like a winter wind.”

“We laughed at the hollyhocks together and then I sprayed them with lye. Forgive me. I simply do not know what I am doing.”

“Lifeless in appearance, sluggishdazed spring approaches-They enter the new world naked,cold, uncertain of allsave that they enter. All about themthe cold, familiar wind-Now the grass, tomorrowthe stiff curl of wildcarrot leafOne by one objects are defined-It quickens: clarity, outline of leafBut now the stark dignity ofentrance-Still, the profound changehas come upon them: rooted, theygrip down and begin to awaken”

“The Last Words of My English GrandmotherThere were some dirty platesand a glass of milkbeside her on a small tablenear the rank, disheveled bed--Wrinkled and nearly blindshe lay and snoredrousing with anger in her tonesto cry for food,Gimme something to eat--They're starving me--I'm all right--I won't goto the hospital. No, no, noGive me something to eat!Let me take youto the hospital, I saidand after you are wellyou can do as you please.She smiled, Yesyou do what you please firstthen I can do what I please--Oh, oh, oh! she criedas the ambulance men liftedher to the stretcher--Is this what you callmaking me comfortable?By now her mind was clear--Oh you think you're smartyou young people,she said, but I'll tell youyou don't know anything.Then we started.On the waywe passed a long rowof elms. She looked at themawhile out ofthe ambulance window and said,What are all thosefuzzy looking things out there?Trees? Well, I'm tiredof them and rolled her head away.”

“The better work men do is always done under stress and at great personal cost.”