It used to be that phrases and lines would come into my head, often many of them in a period of five days or a week, and maybe I didn't know what I was talking about, but the words had a kind of heaviness or deliciousness to them. Donald Hall daydeliciousnesshead share on social
In anything you write - in a short story, a poem - there has to be a counter-motion; it can't go all in one direction. Donald Hall counterdirectionmotion Change image and share on social
When I was a child, I loved old people. My New Hampshire grandfather was my model human being. Donald Hall childgrandfatherhampshire Change image and share on social
Prose is not so dependent on sound. The line of poetry, with the breaking of the line - to me, sound is the kind of doorway into poetry. And my sense of sound, or my ability to control it, lapsed or grew less. Donald Hall abilitybreakcontrol share on social
I write longhand; I make changes longhand, and I have an assistant who types it up. She lives 70 yards away. Every afternoon, I have a case I leave out on the porch, and she brings it back the next morning. Donald Hall afternoonassistantback share on social
On September twentieth every year, I got to choose my menu - meatloaf, corn niblets, and rice were followed by candles on chocolate cake with vanilla icing and a scoop of Brock-Hall ice cream. Donald Hall brockcakecandle Change image and share on social
When I was 12, I had a fondness for horror movies like the 'Wolfman.' The boy next door said I should read Poe. Donald Hall boydoorfondness Change image and share on social
As I look at the barn in my ninth decade, I see the no-smoking sign, rusted and tilting on the unpainted gray clapboard. My grandfather, born in 1875, milked his cattle there a century ago. Donald Hall agobarnbear Change image and share on social
My parents were willing to let me follow my nose, do what I wanted to do, and they supported my interest by buying the books that I wanted for birthdays and Christmas, almost always poetry books. Donald Hall birthdaybookbuy Change image and share on social
New poems no longer come to me with their prodigies of metaphor and assonance. Prose endures. I feel the circles grow smaller, and old age is a ceremony of losses, which is, on the whole, preferable to dying at forty-seven or fifty-two. Donald Hall ageassonanceceremony share on social
