I've just had eighteen straight whiskies. I think that's the record.
Seventeen whiskeys. A record, I think.
But oh, San Francisco! It is and has everything - you wouldn't think that such a place as San Francisco could exist.
Go on thinking that you don't need to be read and you'll find that it may become quite true: no one will feel the need tom read it because it is written for yourself alone; and the public won't feel any impulse to gate crash such a private party.
I used to think that once a writer became a man of letters, if only for a half hour, he was done for. And here I am now, at the very moment of such an odious, though respectable, danger.
And from the first declension of the flesh I learnt man's tongue, to twist the shapes of thoughts Into the stony idiom of the brain....
In the beginning was the secret brain. The brain was celled and soldered in the thought
Somebody's boring me. I think it's me.
Don't be too harsh to these poems until they're typed. I always think typescript lends some sort of certainty: at least, if the things are bad then, they appear to be bad with conviction.
Why do men think you can pick love up and re-light it like a candle? Women know when love is over.
I like to think of poetry as statements made on the way to the grave.
I think, that if I touched the earth, It would crumble; It is so sad and beautiful, So tremulously like a dream.
You wouldn't think such a place as San Francisco could exist. The wonderful sunlight there, the hills, the great bridges, the Pacific at your shoes. Beautiful Chinatown. Every race in the world. The sardine fleets sailing out. The little cable-cars whizzing down The City hills. And all the people are open and friendly.