I question my own talent and ability to make creative work every single day.

Most people are trying to go digital, and trying to do different things with poetry. McSweeney's is going in the opposite direction - going more classic, and retro, which is all coming back.

I was sort of obsessed about corporate people committing suicide.

Sometimes I feel like I'm on top of the world, and other mornings I feel like crap.

I can't help but go against the grain, I suppose it is in my fabric to be a rule-breaker.

I am always reading, always, and tons of things at once. I wouldn't say I'm a voracious reader, though. I never finish books that fast, because I'm always reading so many things at once.

I think my way of being "funny" is just saying things that people think but have learned not to say, whereas, I haven't learned not to say them.

There's an attraction to emotional clusters or hypocrisies or awkwardness. A desire to expose something or point at something that's already poking out.

I feel like I give myself all day long to other people and other things, and I still seem like I have something to write once in awhile. Not often, though.

I think I've always felt very isolated, and I'm sure lots of poets do.

I think e-mail and social media and all that has made me feel way less isolated than ever before.

Not an impossible task, just an outrageous challenge.

The tree that is beside the running water is fresher and gives more fruit.

There is more you can do after you pray, but there is nothing you can do until you pray.

Honoring the moment is honoring every human being you meet. The only place where you can meet them is in the moment.

A beaten general is disgraced forever.

Celebrity: I picture myself as a marble bust with legs to run everywhere.

At least for tonight. In sickness and in health. In good times and in bad. For richer, for poorer. 'Till dawn do us part.

The Bostonians take their learning too sadly: culture with them is an accomplishment rather than an atmosphere; their "Hub," as they call it, is the paradise of prigs.

These Atlantikoinonia. They’re human? (Acheron) What else would they be? Turnips? (Tory)

A good banana daiquiri is hard to come by. I've only ever found one place in this country that makes a proper one, and that's in Leeds.