The Truth Is, It's Not A Great

Prison Always Has Been A Good Place For Writers, Killing, As It Does, The Twin Demons Of Mobility And Diversion

The Life Of A Poet Lies Not Merely In The Finite Language-dance Of Expression But In The Nearly Infinite Combinations Of Perception And Memory Combined With The Sensitivity To What Is Perceived And Remembered.

You Treat Violence As An Aberration ... When In Truth It Is The Norm. It Is The Very Essence Of The Human Condition.

Barbarians, We Call Them, While All The While We Timidly Cling To Our Web Like Visigoths Crouching In The Ruins Of Rome's Faded Glory And Proclaim Ourselves Civilized.

It Occurs To Me That Our Survival May Depend Upon Our Talking To One Another.