A world without fairy tales and myths would be as drab as life without music

I drank the silence of God from a spring in the woods.

Shuddering under the autumn stars, each year, the head sinks lower and lower.

Silently, God opens his golden eyes over the place of skulls.

Black frost. The ground is hard, the air tastes bitter. Your stars cluster in evil signs.

The near stillness recalls what is forgotten, extinct angels.

When we are thirsty, we drink the white waters of the pool, the sweetness of our mournful childhood.

Cold metal walks across my forehead, spiders search for my heart. It is a light that goes out in my mouth.

Earlier lives drift by on silver soles, and the shadows of the damned descend into these sighing waters.

The blue of my eyes is extinguished in this night, the red gold of my heart.

The guilt of newborns is immense.

It is not that men become too intelligent for God, ' says the Apologist, 'but rather they become too arrogant for intelligence.

Know the enemy, know yourself and victory is never in doubt, not in a hundred battles.

Age puzzles me. I thought it was a quiet time. My seventies were interesting and fairly serene but my eighties are passionate. I grow more intense as I age.

I learned a long time ago: You're in the entertainment business. You're not in the reality business. One has absolutely nothing to do with the other.

Sometimes Harvey Weinstein will let me use the Miramax jet if I'm opening a supermarket for him.

Real life is much stranger than fiction, man.

But of course in my world nothing is political. And everything's about policy and governance. And maybe a bit of politics.

The horror of Communism, Stalinism, is not that bad people do bad things -- they always do. It's that good people do horrible things thinking they are doing something great.

My girlfriend does her nails with white-out. When she's asleep, I go over there and write misspelled words on them.

Too much reality can be a dazzle, a surfeit;Too close immediacy an exhaustion