He would like to start from scratch. Where is scratch?

The great writers of aphorisms read as if they had all known each other well.

People love as self-recognition what they hate as an accusation.

Whenever you observe an animal closely, you feel as if a human being sitting inside were making fun of you.

All the things one has forgotten scream for help in dreams.

There is no such thing as an ugly language. Today I hear every language as if it were the only one, and when I hear of one that is dying, it overwhelms me as though it were the death of the earth.

Every decision is liberating, even if it leads to disaster. Otherwise, why do so many people walk upright and with open eyes into their misfortune?

His head is made of stars, but not yet arranged into constellations.

When you write down your life, every page should contain something no one has ever heard about

The process of writing has something infinite about it. Even though it is interrupted each night, it is one single notation.

Explain nothing. Put it there. Say it. Leave.

If you stick to something doggedly, you are off to a bad start.

Give me a moment, because I like to cry for joy. It's so delicious, John dear, to cry for joy.

Of course, I know that love is sometimes like that—some men love men, some women love women.

He went in, lean and deadly, and ended the creature with a lightning-fast spike of his blade. It shrieked, likely altering the rest. The death call carried like a mournful song.

A lady's hair is her crowning glory

Society is composed of slow Christians and wide-awake sinners.

If you want to become fully mature in the Lord, you must learn to love truth. Otherwise, you will always leave open a door of deception for the enemy to take what is meant to be yours.

I shall not let a sorrow die Until I find the heart of it, Nor let a wordless joy go by Until it talks to me a bit.

They walked with a pedatory grace.... one of them ripped off their hood and said, "my name is Tally Youngblood and is a special circumstance".

Slayer of the winter, art thou here again? O welcome, thou that bring'st the summer nigh! The bitter wind makes not the victory vain. Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky.