Death is woven in with the violets, ” said Louis. “Death and again death.”)

For this moment, this one moment, we are together. I press you to me. Come, pain, feed on me. Bury your fangs in my flesh. Tear me asunder. I sob, I sob.

I was always going to the bookcase for another sip of the divine specific.

And the poem, I think, is only your voice speaking.

When I cannot see words curling like rings of smoke round me I am in darkness—I am nothing.

Like" and "like" and "like"--but what is the thing that lies beneath the semblance of the thing?

The real novelist, the perfectly simple human being, could go on, indefinitely imaging.

But I pine in Solitude. Solitude is my undoing.

I begin to long for some little language such as lovers use, broken words, inarticulate words, like the shuffling of feet on pavement.

When I am grown up I shall carry a notebook—a fat book with many pages, methodically lettered. I shall enter my phrases.

Among the tortures and devastations of life is this then—our friends are not able to finish their stories.

Nobody is poor unless he stand in need of justice.

The translator of prose is the slave of the author, and the translator of poetry is his rival.

Honor is unknown in despotic states.

The gift of the great microscopist is the ability to think with the eyes and see with the brain.

I call our world Flatland, not because we call it so, but to make its nature clearer to you, my happy readers, who are privileged to live in Space.

In each of us there is a little of all of us.

Film is a very tight little box. If you don't fit in that box, you're gone. Television, there's more room to move around.

We're never going to scare people into living more sustainably! We have to be able to demonstrate just how dynamic and aspirational such a world could be

As an artist you are free to use any image, any style, any idea from any culture and any period of history.

If there's anyone in space, what they'll learn about the human race will be listening to us talking on the car phone.