“You lethargic, waiting upon me,waiting for the fire and Iattendant upon you, shaken by your beautyShaken by your beauty Shaken.”
“Rot dead marigolds- an acre at a time! Gold are you?”
“If they give you lined paper, write the other way.”
“I think all writing is a disease. You can't stop it.”
“There is no thing that with a twist of the imagination cannot be something else. Porpoises risen in a green sea, the wind at nightfall bending the rose- red grasses and you- in your apron hurrying to catch- say it seems to you to be your son. How ridiculous! You will pass up into a cloud and look back at me, not count the scribbling foolish that put wings at your heels, at your knees.”
“You're a romanticist. What do you think a man is, a papaya? To digest your dinner? In pill form?”