“There was nothing to talk about anymore. The only thing to do was go.”

Don’t use the phone. People are never ready to answer it. Use poetry.

Everything I wrote was true because I believed what I saw.

Something great is about to happen to me: I’m about to love somebody very much.

One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.

Who knows, my God, but that the universe is not one vast sea of compassion actually, the veritable holy honey, beneath all this show of personality and cruelty?

You are the equal of the idol who has given you your inspiration.

My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them.

When you start separating people from their rivers, what have you got? Bureaucracy!

I was suddenly left with nothing in my hands but a handful of crazy stars.

I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.

Live, travel, adventure, bless, and don’t be sorry.

While looking for the light, you may suddenly be devoured by the darkness and find the true light.

There’s wisdom in wine.

Pain or love or danger makes you real again.

Life must be rich and full of loving–it’s no good otherwise, no good at all, for anyone.

The beauty of things must be that they end.

Some books are lies frae end to end.

I trust in nature for the stable laws of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant and autumn garner to the end of time.

Perhaps the story you finish is never the one you begin.

In the end the salt calls the ocean home; and I guess this is why drowning has always been a part of loving you.

But I was not made for the great light that devours, a dim lamp was all I had been given, and patience without end, to shine it on the empty shadows.

We were a short lived anthology of things no one else could read.

Death is the end of every worldly pain.

I give the fight up: let there be an end, a privacy, an obscure nook for me. I want to be forgotten even by God.