Separate we come, and separate we go, And this be it known, is all that we know.

The hiss was now becoming a roar - the whole world was a vast moving screen of snow - but even now it said peace, it said remoteness, it said cold, it said sleep.

All lovely things will have an ending, all lovely things will fade and die; and youth, that's now so bravely spending, Will beg a penny by and by.

The wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams, the eternal asker of answers, stands in the street, and lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.

[At a musical concert:] . . . the music's pure algebra of enchantment.

Forward into the untrodden! Courage, old man, and hold on to your umbrella!

My heart has become as hard as a city street, the horses trample upon it, it sings like iron, all day long and all night long they beat, they ring like the hooves of time.

I'm afraid I wasn't much of a student, but my casual reading was enormous.

O sweet clean earth, from whom the green blade cometh! When we are dead, my best beloved and I, close well above us, that we may rest forever, sending up grass and blossoms to the sky.

Music I heard with you was more than music, and bread I broke with you was more than bread. Now that I am without you, all is desolate; all that was once so beautiful is dead.

It's time to make love, douse the glim; The fireflies twinkle and dim; The stars lean together Like birds of a feather, And the loin lies down with the limb.

I’d never heard of a rain check before, but hoped it was something storm rescuers bought bags of souvenirs for their kids with.

People stagger, but they pick up a tattered thread and wind it back onto a spool.

I found that it wasn't so oddball to like music and poetry and visual arts, they're kindred spirits.

Your inner voice, your instinct, knows everything.

I may be a douche to some people, but I actually do run companies.

I don't know how long I kept at it... I felt reasonably safe, streched out on the floor, and lay quite still. It didn't seem to be summer any more

Frankly, I have always dreaded writing - there always seemed to be pain involved, unpleasant self-examination and a lot of fear.

Avoid the ecstatic adjectives that occupy such disproportionate space in every critic's quiver - words like "enthralling" and "luminous."