I Frightened Myself. I Became The Ghost

It's Not That He Lacked Poetry. But His Poetry Was Of The Body, Not The Mind. He Spoke It In The Way He Moved, The Way He Held A Hammer, Rowed A Boat, Built A Fire. I, On The Other Hand, Was Like A Brain In A Box, A Beating Heart In A Coal Scuttle.

I Didn't Seem To Have That Effect On Anyone But It Would Have Been A Waste For Both Of Us To Be Saints.

While Working In Advertising, I Channelled My Creative Energy Into Elaborate Escape Fantasies: Cake Making, Dog Breeding, The Peace Corps.

The Average Attention Span Of The Modern Human Being Is About Half As Long As Whatever Youre Trying To Tell Them.

A Piano Might Fall On Your Head, He Said, But It Also Might Not. And In The Meantime You Never Know. Something Nice Might Happen.