The pull between sound and syntax creates a kind of musical tension in the language that interests me.

The ambiguities of language, both in terms of vocabulary and syntax, are fascinating: how important connotation is, what is lost and what is gained in the linguistic transition.

The phenomenon of university creative writing programs doesn't exist in France. The whole idea is regarded as a novelty, or an oddity.

I have experienced healing through other writers' poetry, but there's no way I can sit down to write in the hope a poem will have healing potential. If I do, I'll write a bad poem.

With, or despite our scars, we stay alive.

Poetry seems to have been eliminated as a literary genre, and installed instead, as a kind of spiritual aerobic exercise - nobody need read it, but anybody can do it.

There is a way in which all writing is connected. In a second language, for example, a workshop can liberate the students' use of the vocabulary they're acquiring.

The woman poet must be either a sexless, reclusive eccentric, with nothing to say specifically to women, or a brilliant, tragic, tortured suicide.

I worked at all kinds of jobs, mostly commercial editing.

There is something very satisfactory about being in the middle of something.

We sometimes received - and I would read - 200 manuscripts a week. Some of them were wonderful, some were terrible; most were mediocre. It was like the gifts of the good and bad fairies.

If there were dreams to sell, what would you buy?

I never thought my life would end like this. Being hunted by mythological creatures in my pajamas. Honestly, it never entered my mind.

To an atheist all writings tend to atheism: he corrupts the most innocent matter with his own venom.

If the good is not dependent on the bad and can be separated from it, one gives effect to the good that remains after the separation if it still gives effect to the main objective.

Never doubt that you can change history. You already have.

I'm for style - fashions change too often.

if you love me, love me now. dont hold yourself so badly until tears starts to mean nothing

Hey Grover! Thorn's kidnapping us! He's a poisonous spike-throwing maniac! Help!

Not all of us know what we are. Some of us die without ever knowing. Some of us know, and never get caught. But we're out there. Trust me.

Mother my friends are no longer my friends And the games we once played have no meaning I've gone serious and shy and they can't figure why So they've left me to my own daydreaming.