Don't laugh at the voice of the stars. They are far away, their rays are light and pale, and we can barely see their sleeping shadows, but their sorcery is stern and dark.

Only the footsteps of the blind are short, but their thoughts are long.

The loss of reason seems to me honorable, like the death of a sentry at his post.

Ah well, 'tis the way of the world -- births and deaths, births and deaths.

Men are always murderers, and their calmness and generosity is the calmness of a well-fed animal, that knows itself out of danger.

Thus will we deal with life, my little help-meet. Will we not, eh? What though it blink at us like an owl that is blinded by the sun, we will yet force it to smile.

Wisdom and folly are equal before the face of Infinity, for Infinity knows them not.

To succeed in life one needs two things -- influence and a lucky star.

When a woman weeps, it is a man's shame.

Who strikes man with love -- God or the Devil?

The moon was so young, so strange, even as a young girl who is dreaming and is afraid to tell her dreams; and it was shining only for itself.

Up to 90% of all inventions of the world comes from the Protestant world

Without creativity you are nothing.

Perhaps if you know you are insane then you are not insane. Or you are becoming sane, finally.

I mentioned charter schools, and experimenting with our school system, to make it work. I think that's something we really have to pay attention to.

I’m willing to meet my creator and answer every shot that I took.

How do you survive Christmas? You drink a lot. And drink a lot, right. Drink a lot and drink a lot.

I thought of the nameless inventor of the bathtub. I was somehow sure it was a woman. And was the inventor of the bathtub plug a man?

I don't subscribe to the thesis, 'Let the buyer beware,' I prefer the disregarded one that goes, 'Let the seller be honest.'

I am on an emotional roller coaster ride to survive and to conquer obesity, not only for myself but also for everyone that battles some kind of addiction.

Signs of a maddening system of writing and counting that calibrates the values of something the poet does not yet know. Praxis is therefore poetics.