Death is buried there into death Hunger strikes on its own last breathNo spine to shiver, no heart talks At life’s craving poverty mocksFrom the poem 'Exhumation

I’ve reached the vanishing point without you.Here my heartache begins with your paintrying to find an unborn startin this fatal disappearanceFrom the poem ‘Me with the Vanishing Point

I left smiles on your wordless lipsThe night roads- dismal and narrow, dream’s path remains shadowy wideas our lone hearts felt that arrowFrom the Poem 'My Tomorrow

His hands are behind his back.'Choose, ' he says.'I've already made my choice, ' I say, and I grab the sleeve of his leather jacket and pull him inside.

I don't speak particularly well. That's one of the consequences of being extremely ugly.

I just sit down and the page just comes out and I look at it and the elements that appear on that page have a lot to do with what's going on in my life.

Who sows fear, reaps weapons.

Self-contemplation is apt to end in self-conceit.

The city is like a great house, and the house in its turn a small city.

I broke every barrier I could to see things as they are.

I'm always reading plays, and when I find something that I really want to do, then I'll make the time to do it.

In my opening seconds, I would say, "It's great to be here," then move to several other spots on the stage and say, "No, it's great to be here!" I would move again: "No, it's great to be here!

Use a screwdriver instead of a hammer. Try to untighten the nut with your hand. Utilize the path of least resistance first.