We have our Arts so we won't die of Truth

You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.

I have never listened to anyone who criticized my taste in space travel, sideshows or gorillas. When this occurs, I pack up my dinosaurs and leave the room.

Ours is a culture and a time immensely rich in trash as it is in treasures.

That's the great secret of creativity. You treat ideas like cats: you make them follow you.

We need our Arts to teach us how to breathe

You grow ravenous. You run fevers. You know exhilarations. You can't sleep at night, because your beast-creature ideas want out and turn you in your bed. It is a grand way to live.

I came on the old and best ways of writing through ignorance and experiment and was startled when truths leaped out of brushes like quail before gunshot.

So while our art cannot, as we wish it could, save us from wars, privation, envy, greed, old age, or death, it can revitalize us amidst it all.

It is a lie to write in such way as to be rewarded by fame offered you by some snobbish quasi-literary groups in the intellectual gazettes.

We all are rich and ignore the buried fact of accumulated wisdom.

That's why the firm foundation of every land must be morality untarnished which, if destroyed, Rome will fall and founder.

The innocent must not suffer.

Wikipedia is forcing people to accept the stone-cold bummer that knowledge is produced and constructed by argument rather than by divine inspiration.

Pre-mature ejaculation. Let's talk about it. Premature ejaculation. That's a pretty fancy term for, "Ooooooh Oh no. This has never happened before."

Bridesmaids are never going to upstage the bride.

Men live, and then they die. It is the quality of the process of living which matters, that and that alone.

Robert Creely's poems have two main characteristics. 1) They are short; 2) they are not short enough.

A photographer's best work is, alas, generally done for himself.

Looking at me from the outside, it is not very obvious, I know half my family is black and I feel close to their culture and their color.

Scrape the grey sky clean, realize that every dark cloud is a smokescreen meant to blind us from the truth