After all, everybody has secrets and there are some things that nobody knows about you but only you, right?
I've said what I'm prepared to say in my poems, and then journalists think that you're going to tell them a whole lot more.
Write to amuse? What an appalling suggestion! I write to make people anxious and miserable and to worsen their indigestion.
At lunchtime I bought a huge orange The size of it made us all laugh. I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave— They got quarters and I had a half. And that orange it made me so happy, As ordinary things often do Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park This is peace and contentment. It's new. The rest of the day was quite easy. I did all my jobs on my list And enjoyed them and had some time over. I love you. I'm glad I exist.
When a poem doesn't work, the first question to ask yourself is, 'Am I telling the truth?'
I have a theory that if you've got the kind of parents who want to send you to boarding school, you're probably better off at boarding school.
Bloody Christmas, here again, let us raise a loving cup, peace on earth, goodwill to men, and make them do the washing up.
I came up with more money, took all the footage, got a great editor and made this film [Dream of Life]. But I really didn't go into it with the intention of making a movie.
I get recognised a fair bit. It goes up when Peep Show or the sketch show is on the telly or when were doing loads of interviews.
The work of a writer, his continuing work, depends for breath of life on a certain privacy of heart.
Given that we cannot know all the elements in a problem, we never can solve it.