I'm sitting on the stile. Mary, Where we sat side by side.

I'm very lonely now, Mary, For the poor make no new friends; But oh they love the better still The few our Father sends!

Don't blame me. That's evolution. Evolution's always hard. Hard and bleak. No such thing as happy evolution.

Everyone loves a dead artist. It’s the living ones that people can’t tolerate.

Myth and fairy-story must, as all art, reflect and contain in solution elements of moral and religious truth (or error), but not explicit, not in the known form of the primary 'real' world.

If I have one vice and I can call it nothing else it is not able to say 'no'.

If we could be heroes, if just for one day.

Yes, 85 percent of the art you see isn't any good. But everyone has a different opinion about which 85 percent is bad. That in turn creates fantastically unstable interplay and argument.

I don't know how i stay on my feet, why i don;t just shatter into dust right there, why my heart keeps beating when i want it so badly to stop

My father was not a political animal.

If you don't dance, for heaven's sake, you cannot aspire. You do not lift up from this earth.

Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?