Verse is not written, it is bled; Out of the poet's abstract head. Words drip the poem on the page; Out of his grief, delight and rage. — Paul Engle Copy Share Image
I had been warned about Jews by my gentile friends - they did terrible things with knives to boys. — Paul Engle Copy Share Image
Every Christmas should begin with the sound of bells, and when I was a child mine always did. But they were sleigh bells, not… — Paul Engle Copy Share Image
When I took over the Writers' Workshop, it was one little class and there were eight students. All of them, brilliantly untalented... I had… — Paul Engle Copy Share Image
I grew up in the prolonged survival of the great age of the horse, with harness and saddle and sleigh bells and horse pictures,… — Paul Engle Copy Share Image
Soldiers of the American Revolution fought that 18th century war with heavy muskets. In the early 20th century, we kids fought it every Fourth… — Paul Engle Copy Share Image
The years rolled their brutal course down the hill of time. Still poor, my clothes still smelling of the horse barn, still writing those… — Paul Engle Copy Share Image
Without vision you don't see, and without practicality the bills don't get paid. — Paul Engle Copy Share Image
