By the time some writers—particularly poets—are twenty-seven or twenty-eight they’ve often used up the germinal quality that is their writing, the thing that is their heart. Not for the great poets, but for many poets this is true. The inspiration starts to wane. Many have learned enough to cover that with devices or technique or they just go back and write the same stories about their childhood over and over. It’s why so much poetry feels artificial.
"I thought all character was a form of shabbiness, a wearing away of surfaces. I saw this shabbiness as our version of ruins, the relic of a short history. The sadness of the buildings was literature. I was twenty-six, and sadness was a stimulant, even an aphrodisiac."
— Anatole Broyard, “Kafka Was the Rage” (via rightnow-forever)
"I believed that I wanted to be a poet, but deep down I wanted to be a poem."
— Jaime Gil de Biedma
as quoted by Enrique Vila-Matas in Bartleby & Co., trans. Jonathan Dunne (via proustitute)