Writers Will Be Judged By What They

And Did You Get What You Wanted From This Life Even So? I Did.

There Isn't Enough Of Anything As Long As We Live. But At Intervals A Sweetness Appears And, Given A Chance Prevails.

But I Can Hardly Sit Still. I Keep Fidgeting, Crossing One Leg And Then The Other. I Feel Like I Could Throw Off Sparks, Or Break A Window--maybe Rearrange All The Furniture.

You Have To Have Been In Love To Write Poetry.

Honey, No Offense, But Sometimes I Think I Could Shoot You And Watch You Kick.