Verse Is Not Written, It Is Bled;

Has The Painter Not Always Gone To An Art School, Or At Least To An Established Master, For Instruction? And The Composer, The Sculptor, The Architect? Then Why Not The Writer? Good Poets, Like Good Hybrid Corn, Are Both Born And Made.

You Come To Know The Aches And Vanities And Tastes And Intrigues Of An Entire Neighborhood At A Drug Store.

I Wanted To Write Poetry Almost A Little More Than I Wanted To Eat.

A Barn With Cattle And Horses Is The Place To Begin Christmas; After All, That's Where The Original Event Happened, And That Same Smell Was The First Air That The Christ Child Breathed.

Our Small Ears Never Had Such A Workout As On The Fourth Of July, Hearing Not Only Our Own Bursting Crackers But Also Those Of Our Friends, And Often The Boom Of Homemade Cannon Shot Off By Daring Boys Of 16 Years, Ready To Lose A Hand If It Blew Up.