We are only midway through the central verse of our youth when we see ourselves begin to blacken. ... We had been seduced into thinking that we were immortal and suddenly the affair is over.

Words bounce. Words, if you let them, will do what they want to do and what they have to do.

One of the principle qualities of pain is that it demands an explanation.

To be running breathlessly, but not yet arrived, is itself delightful, a suspended moment of living hope.

The words we read and words we write never say exactly what we mean. The people we love are never just as we desire them. The two symbola never perfectly match. Eros is in between.

You remember too much," my mother said to me recently. "Why hold onto all that?" And I said, "where can I put it down?

Why does tragedy exist? Because you are full of rage. Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief.

Myths are stories about people who become too big for their lives temporarily, so that they crash into other lives or brush against gods. In crisis their souls are visible.

Under the seams runs the pain.

When I desire you a part of me is gone.

If your way of life is writing, then everything that happens becomes a sentence.

Nothing is impossible, nothing is risky, when you take the action with love, something better will happen.

There is a dark place calling to me, but I will not go just yet. I know I can't return from it.

I am, as I've said, merely competent. But in an age of incompetence, that makes me extraordinary.

More and more, I think about the role of the arts, and as an artist, I think that it's important that I share the love and peace.

I remember some of the sets on "Alexander" were extraordinary and it would just take your breath away.

And he wishes, in the cold quiet of his archer's heart, that he himself could feel the intensity of their reconciliations as strongly as he feels that of their battles.

Beauty, delicacy and position-these were the foundations of courtly equestrianism

It is not every man who can be exquisitely miserable, any more than exquisitely happy.

This Christmas and every Christmas will be richer by sharing and enjoying gifts that cannot be held but only felt.

Entitlement and privelege corrupt.