The years rolled their brutal course down the hill of time. Still poor, my clothes still smelling of the horse barn, still writing those doubtful poems where too much emotion clashed with too many words. — Paul Engle Copy Share Image
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
