Oh, beloved, and there is nothing but shadowswhere you accompany me in your dreamsand tell me the hour of light.

By night, Love, tie your heart to mine, and the two together in their sleep will defeat the darkness

And I, infinitesima­l being, drunk with the great starry void, likeness, image of mystery, I felt myself a pure part of the abyss, I wheeled with the stars, my heart broke loose on the wind.

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

Green was the silence, wet was the light, the month of June trembled like a butterfly.

Love is a clash of lightnings

In this part of the story I am the one whodies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you, because I love you, Love, in fire and in blood.

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

By night, beloved, tie your heart to mineand let them both in dreams defeat the darkness

You are the trembling of time, that passesbetween vertical light and darkened sky,

You, in bloom, heart, beloved, you are like the foliage of the sky over my eyesand I look at you lying on the earth

Being true to yourself is always the right thing to do.""Is it? Even if you're a monster?

Being unique is what's cool. Normal? What's normal? A setting on a washing machine. No one wants to be that.

Always look for ways to improve even the "good show."

Elvis is the king of rock and roll, who made white kids shake their shackle.

The most merciful thing in the world... is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.

The artist had captured a moment that went on suggesting other moments in the mind of the beholder. This, Timmon told me, was what every painter, every singer, every craftsman sought to create.

I can almost always write music; at any hour of the twenty-four, if I put pencil to paper, music comes.

The vulgar herd estimate friendship by its advantages. [Lat., Vulgus amicitias utilitate probat.]

It is one of the worst things of sentiment that the voice grows to be more important than the words, and the speaker than that what is spoken.

One of the things I love about my job as a playwright or as a screenwriter is that I get to do a lot of research and a lot of thinking and taking a lot of notes before I turn it in.