Memory revises me.

A door jumpsout from shadows, then jumps away. Thisis what I've come to find:the back door, unlatched.Tooled by insular wind, itslams and slamswithout meaningto and without meaning.

My tongue remembers your wounded flavor.The vein in my neckadores you. A swordstands up between my hips, my hidden fleece sends forth its scent of human oil.

Moonlight and high wind.Dark poplars toss, insinuate the sea.

I'm not into werewolves, but holy crap is he a hottie. Totally gorgeous and built like a tank. I bet he's got one down to his---

Loneliness is the way by which destiny endeavors to lead man to himself.

I seldom go into a natural history museum without feeling as if I were attending a funeral.

Of all animals, he alone attains to the Contemplative Life.

And you pretend it doesn't bother you, When you just want to explode.

If there's a heaven, I hope to hell I go!

For whatever reason, various outlets and individuals are committed to making the world think that young girls don't talk or care about feminism anymore, that it's totally over. But it's not.

To be sitting on the bench behind somebody who only started to play when he was 30 is not funny.

We’re at a point in history that whether the Internet is going to evolve in a way that’s compatible with democracy and human rights is really kind of up in the air.

Obviously it always takes longer to finish an album than you think it will. That's always going to be the case. Everything takes longer than you think it will. Occasionally things happen fast.