By the truth we are undone. Life is a dream. 'Tis the waking that kills us. He who robs us of our dreams robs us of our life.

Love, the poet said, is woman's whole existence.

Better was it to go unknown and leave behind you an arch, then to burn like a meteor and leave no dust.

He who robs us of our dreams robs us of our life.

. . . clumsiness is often mated with a love of solitude.

As long as she thinks of a man, nobody objects to a woman thinking.

Nothing thicker than a knife's blade separates happiness from melancholy.

Vain trifles as they seem, clothes have, they say, more important offices than to merely keep us warm. They change our view of the world and the world's view of us.

The flower bloomed and faded. The sun rose and sank. The lover loved and went. And what the poets said in rhyme, the young translated into practice.

Was not writing poetry a secret transaction, a voice answering a voice?

Are we so made that we have to take death in small doses daily or we could not go on with the business of living?

I see Earth! It is so beautiful!

I was eating bad stuff. Lots of sugar and carbs, junk food all the time. It makes you very irritated.

But I found that being an artist and doing accurate work is very difficult.

I'm the Forrest Gump of comedy.

The fact is always obvious much too late, but the most singular difference between happiness and joy is that happiness is a solid and joy a liquid.

I think we invent jargon because it saves times talking to one-another.

But such a tiny and trivial thing as an umbrella can deprive you of the sight of such a stupendous fact as the sun.

I hate to play the I-live-in-the-country card, but it really takes all of the 'pack the kids into the car and run from here to there' out of the equation.

Angel, getting you off is ninety-nine percent of the fun for me.

I love London. I would move here. I like British people; everybody is so down to earth.