My objects dream and wear new costumes, compelled to, it seems, by all the words in my hands and the sea that bangs in my throat.

Emerald as heavy as a golf course, ruby as dark as an afterbirth, diamond as white as sun on the sea.

Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance.

I am a collection of dismantled almosts.

Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.

As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.

I’m lost. And it’s my own fault. It’s about time I figured out that I can’t ask people to keep me found.

Watch out for intellect, because it knows so much it knows nothing and leaves you hanging upside down, mouthing knowledge as your heart falls out of your mouth.

Meanwhile in my head, I’m undergoing open-heart surgery.

O starry night, This is how I want to die

O yellow eye, let me be sick with your heat, let me be feverish and frowning.

Let me be an ocean and let me kiss you as many times as the ocean kisses the shore.

But death has taken root inside you and you know it will grow, like a cancer with a voice, from now until the day it consumes you whole.

It is in self-limitation that a master first shows himself.

Repentance isn't only sorrow for past sins, it's also a determination to now do the will of God as He reveals it to us

When a feminist as strident as Garofalo is defending the Hussein regime, you have to wonder if her newfound sobriety has hit a rough patch.

We live now in an era where normal values have been displaced. The good is called bad, the bad - good.

No matter what the illusion created, it is a flat canvas and it has to be organized into shapes.

You can't pussyfoot around. When you're talking to lions, you can't meow like a pussycat.

As the Nobel laureate Elie Wiesel warned years ago, to forget a holocaust is to kill twice.

All I've undergone I will keep on.