Our dreams are luminous, a cast fire upon the world. Morning arrives and that's it. Sunlight darkens the earth.

It's linkage I'm talking about, and harmonies and structures, And all the various things that lock our wrists to the past.

The music of memory has its own pitch,/which not everyone hears.

It’s up there, and you can see the front of it. But what it is isn’t what you’re looking at. It’s behind what you’re looking at.

How sweet the past is, no matter how wrong, or how sad. How sweet is yesterday's noise

It may not be written in any book, but it is written - You can't go back, you can't repeat the unrepeatable.

Some people have everything Other people don't But everything don't mean a thing If it ain't the thing you want

If you want great tranquility/ It's hard work and a long walk

Poetry is the dark side of the moon.

The ache for anything is a thick dust in the heart.

Everyone knows this. The voyage into the interior is all that matters, Whatever your ride.

Antonia was very conscious of the corrosive power of envy and felt that it was this emotion, more than any other, which lay behind human unhappiness. People did not realize how widespread envy was.

I'm a Christian. But Muslims are misunderstood. Intentionally misunderstood. We should all be more like them.

What we call God's justice is only man's idea of what he would do if he were God.

I'm just having a wonderful time. It's an interesting thing that I'm very comfortable with this material and I don't know why. Maybe it's because I did MacBeth.

Sometimes the wheel turns slowly, but it turns.

I won't work on anyone's else's script. I won't write for anyone else. I write my own stuff and make that when the time is right.

On Saturdays I worked all day in Hunter Gaunt's drugstore in Winchester, and then at night, my mother drove me to Front Royal, where I sang pop tunes.

You get to a certain age, and you feel the need to reward yourself just for existing.

Do that again and, bracelet or no bracelet, I’ll tear your head off and use it for a doorstop. (Xypher)

Some are born in their place, some find it, some realize after long searching that the place they left is the one they have been searching for.