When I cannot see words curling like rings of smoke round me I am in darkness—I am nothing.

For this moment, this one moment, we are together. I press you to me. Come, pain, feed on me. Bury your fangs in my flesh. Tear me asunder. I sob, I sob.

I was always going to the bookcase for another sip of the divine specific.

And the poem, I think, is only your voice speaking.

Like" and "like" and "like"--but what is the thing that lies beneath the semblance of the thing?

The real novelist, the perfectly simple human being, could go on, indefinitely imaging.

But I pine in Solitude. Solitude is my undoing.

I begin to long for some little language such as lovers use, broken words, inarticulate words, like the shuffling of feet on pavement.

When I am grown up I shall carry a notebook—a fat book with many pages, methodically lettered. I shall enter my phrases.

Death is woven in with the violets, ” said Louis. “Death and again death.”)

Among the tortures and devastations of life is this then—our friends are not able to finish their stories.

Life is the subtotal of time

Philosophers have a long tradition of marrying stupid women, from Socrates on. They think it clever.

Music makes you braver.

If the [captured Israeli] soldiers are not returned, we will turn Lebanon's clock back 20 years.

Restraint and discipline and examples of virtue and justice. These are the things that form the education of the world.

The incompetence of the [Donald] Trump transition team, the likes of which we've never seen is a bad thing.

In all fields black consciousness seeks to talk to the black man in a language that is his own

My heart was beating out of my chest.

Sports are the reason I am out of shape. I watch them all on TV.

I have a lot of energy, a lot of interest, a lot of desire.