Where your pain is, there your heart lies also.

Tell me what’s the difference between hope and waiting because my heart doesn’t know It constantly cuts itself on the glass of waiting It constantly gets lost in the fog of hope

This morning I suddenly catch myself: I'm not there, I'm so lost in thought, I don't know what's going on around me. Can you think yourself to death?

Even a painful longing is some form of presence.

My poems are more my silence than my speech. Just as music is a kind of quiet. Sounds are needed only to unveil the various layers of silence.

I’ve learned to value failed conversations, missed connections, confusions. What remains is what’s unsaid, what’s underneath. Understanding on another level of being.

Poetry is a presentiment of the truth.

We cling to words like drowning men to straws. But still we drown, we drown.

I’m moved by everything broken and crippled. Since that’s how we really are.

I returned to confirm there can be no return.

I have no talent. I write poems for myself, to think things through, that’s all.

Religious fundamentalists belong in a museum at the exhibit of medieval antiquities, not in any nation.

Memories are the best things in life, I think.

Acting is hard work. At times, it's very energizing and enervating. It's childish. It's also responsible. It's illuminating, enriching, joyful, drab. It's bizarre, diabolical. It's exciting.

Trying to determine what is going on in the world by reading newspapers is like trying to tell the time by watching the second hand of a clock.

When something is 'new and improved', which is it? If it's new, then there has never been anything before it. If it's an improvement, then there must have been something before it.

Ingenious philosophers tell you, perhaps, that the great work of the steam-engine is to create leisure for mankind. Do not believe them; it only creates a vacuum for eager thought to rush in.

A feast not profuse but elegant; more of salt [refinement] than of expense.

He makes me feel like that. Like flying.

The Sun shineth as well on the good as the bad: God from on high beholdeth all the workers of iniquity, as well as the upright of heart.

As Americans, we do love punishment.