My philosophy is fundamentally sad, but I'm not a sad man, and I don't believe I sadden anyone else.

Wanderer, your footsteps are the road, and nothing more; wanderer, there is no road, the road is made by walking. By walking one makes the road, and upon glancing behind one sees the path. . .

Travelers, there is no path, paths are made by walking.

My soul is not asleep. It is awake, wide awake. It neither sleeps nor dreams, but watches, its eyes wide open far-off things, and listens at the shores of the great silence.

Beyond living and dreaming there is something more important: waking up.

I thought my fire was out, and stirred the ashes…. I burnt my fingers.

Traveler, there is no path, the path must be forged as you walk.

I dreamt -- marvellous error! -- that I had a beehive here inside my heart. And the golden bees were making white combs and sweet honey from my old failures.

Under all that we think, lives all we believe, like the ultimate veil of our spirits

What the poet is searching for is not the fundamental I but the deep you.

Avoid pulpits, platforms, stages and pedestals. Keep to the hard ground. It is the only way you can judge your approximate status as a man.

There lived a poet in the lands of gold, Wrote along poems unaffected by warmth or cold, His words spoke truth and pen's stroke was bold, His only motive: lives to mould

Prayer to the patriarchs and prophets was more than the recital of well-known and well-worn phrases-it was the outpouring of the heart.

Mere thinking cannot reveal to us the highest purpose.

Two of my favorite political philosophers, Mao Zedong and Mother Teresa, not often coupled with each other, but the two people that I turn to most.

I have a sister and her name is Mimsy, like from "Alice in Wonderland," so we've got some strange names in our family.

Without a mission statement, you may get to the top of the ladder and then realize it was leaning against the wrong building!

Let's all pretend to be someone else, and then perhaps we'll find out who we are.

When men find they must inevitably perish, they willingly resolve to die with their comrades and with their arms in their hands.

Cormac McCarthy's language is perfect. He is in my view the greatest living American prose stylist.

Being an opener is all about warming up the audience for the main band. That is always fun, pretty easy; there isn't a lot of pressure.