“Put down everything that comes into your head and then you're a writer. But an author is one who can judge his own stuff's worth, without pity, and destroy most of it."
(Casual Chance, 1964)”
―
(Casual Chance, 1964)”
―
“After all, my erstwhile dear,
My no longer cherished,
Need we say it was not love,
Just because it perished?”
― Collected Poems
My no longer cherished,
Need we say it was not love,
Just because it perished?”
― Collected Poems
Sofiacope’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Sofiacope’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
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