The last madness I’ll probably persist in is to believe myself a poet: it will be up to the critics to cure me.

I have seen so many lands vanish in my wake, torn down like stage sets. What survives of them? An image as fleeting as a dream: whatever beauties I discovered, I already knew by heart.

Childhood memories surge back more vividly midway through life – like some palimpsest whose original text suddenly reappears after the manuscript has been chemically treated.

I am the other.

Don’t wait up for me tonight, for the night will be black and white.

No matter what your logic is, if it is coherent, you can develop a technique to express it.

Pop is an easy way for evil business people to make a lot of money. But I find myself humming a Christina Aguilera song every once in a while.

Try not to catch a girl when she's not in a great mood, tired or distracted.

People have enough ideas. The real question is "Which ideas are you going to use?".

Thou seest how sloth wastes the sluggish body, as water is corrupted unless it moves.

My days all follow much the same pattern. They are structured and typical.

A broken spoon may be a fork in disguise.

He sparked on his body that reflect like mini mirrors of diamond

What am I in most people's eyes? A nonentity or an eccentric and disagreeable man... I should want my work to show what is in the heart of such an eccentric, of such a nobody.

A lump in the throat is worth two on the head.