Human beings are repetitive animals. All meaning is generated through repetition.

Every painting is always two paintings: The one you see, and the one you remember.

A book is a collaboration between the one who reads and what is read and, at its best, that coming together is a love story like any other.

There is no future without a past, because what is to be cannot be imagined except as a form of repetition.

That is the strangeness of language: it crosses the boundaries of the body, is at once inside and outside, and it sometimes happens that we don't notice the threshold has been crossed.

Dreams are stories made by and for the dreamer, and each dreamer has his own folds to open and knots to untie.

Our memory fragments don't have any coherence until they're imagined in words. Time is a property of language, of syntax, and tense.

Pain is always emotional. Fear and depression keep constant company with chronic hurting.

I will turn human anatomy into roses and stars and sea. I will dissect the beloveds body in metaphor.

Ture stories can't be told forward, only backward. We invent them from the vantage point of an ever-changing present and tell ourselves how they unfolded.

Memory changes as a person matures.

In any relationship, frequent usage of two words is very important. They can change the course of destiny. These words are – Thank You, and Sorry.

A life is no less valuable or beloved if one lives in an age of decline, than in an age of progress.

A cynic is not merely one who reads bitter lessons from the past he is one who is prematurely disappointed in the future.

I think that age as a number is not nearly as important as health. You can be in poor health and be pretty miserable at 40 or 50. If you're in good health, you can enjoy things into your 80s.

I got my first real six string, bought it at the five and dime, played it 'til my fingers bled.

... nothing broke my heart like the slow death of a shared joke that had once seemed genuinely funny.

Accepting that we have weaknesses becomes a strength.

No one is more hated than he who speaks the truth.

My life is very busy with a lot of things, and so I don't get uninterrupted time. When I do, I can just write all day.

The Brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing, and think it were not night.