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Up on the Brooklyn Bridge a man is standing in agony, waiting to jump, or waiting to write a poem, or waiting for the blood to leave his vessels becau...more

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We are accustomed to think of ourselves as a great democratic body, linked by common ties of blood and language, united indissolubly by all the modes ...more

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I see myself forever and ever as the ridiculous [person], the lonely soul, the wanderer, the restless frustrated artist, the [person] in love with lov...more

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He’s like a hero come back from thewar, a poor maimed bastard living out the reality of his dreams.Wherever he sits himself the chair collapses; whate...more

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Words are loneliness.