Don’t you love the Oxford Dictionary? When I first read it, I thought it was a really really long poem about everything.

Religion is for people who fear hell, spirituality is for people who have been there.

Tomorrow belongs to those who can hear it coming.

If I never wake again, I certainly will have lived while I was alive.

And these children that you spit on as they try to change their worlds are immune to your consultations. They're quite aware of what they're going through.

I don't know where I'm going from here, but I promise it won't be boring.

I suspect that dreams are an integral part of existence, with far more use for us than we've made of them...The fine line between the dream state and reality is at times, for me, quite grey.

The end comes when the infinites arrive.

I'm always amazed that people take what I say seriously. I don't even take what I am seriously.

Put on your red shoes, and dance the blues.

You can neither win nor lose if you don't run the race

This is love, I think. A place where people who have been alone may lock together like hawks and spin in the air, dizzy with surprise at the connection. A place you go willingly, and with wonder

Surprisingly, it is often when wandering through the emotional carnage left by the worst of humankind that we find the best of humanity ad well.

That's what a poem is. Words which have a hidden meaning. A poem is like a secret.

My professional life had started and here I was at a professional dinner full of uninhibited drinking.

I can assure you that there is no question of us throwing away the tradition of the Grammar Schools.

Battles, unlike bargains, are rarely discussed in society.

I feel like rock stars feel a sense of entitlement, whereas I just feel a sense of good fortune.

We have got to lose the primary in order to win the general.

By nature, I think I am a pretty private person, and that is what is hard even doing interviews for films that I really love doing, because in some ways, it diminishes the experience that I had.

Melancholy betrays the world for the sake of knowledge. But in its tenacious self-absorption it embraces dead objects in its contemplation, in order to redeem them