What did my fingers do before they held him? What did my heart do, with its love?

Please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand.

If I didn’t think, I’d be much happier.

If you expect nothing from anybody, you’re never disappointed.

I ride earth's burning carousel. Day in, day out.

What horrifies me most is the idea of being useless: well-educated, brilliantly promising, and fading out into an indifferent middle age.

Go out and do something. It isn’t your room that’s a prison, it’s yourself.

I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.

And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.

If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I'm neurotic as hell.

Perhaps some day I'll crawl back home, beaten, defeated. But not as long as I can make stories out of my heartbreak, beauty out of sorrow.

When the wind blows, the weak are carried away by it, the strong resist it, and the wise manipulate it.

The visual arts will one day be king. The pop stars and celebrities soon to be forgotten.

More than half the difficulties of the world would be allayed or removed by the exhibition of good temper.

And what do automobile companies do? They see something that's taking off and they want to mimic it, don't they?

But the way I see it, dying without knowing love would be a tragedy.

One of the traditional Tantric methods of mediation is to imagine that you are taking on the suffering of all beings.

Southern white people despise the Negro as a race, and will do nothing to aid in his elevation as such; but for certain individuals they have a strong affection, and are helpful to them in many ways.

When you are really in love, you become vulnerable, and insecurities come out of nowhere.

If I have to go around telling everyone how great I am, then there's something wrong with my act.

In the corporate-owned media, men dressed like Ronald Reagan and women dressed like Rita Hayworth disseminate grotesque exaggerations and gossip in authoritative tones.