“I suppose all we can really share with people is a taste for the same kinds of weather.”

I love you, even if there isn’t any me, or any love, or even any life. I love you.

Why do we spend years using up our bodies to nurture our minds with experience and find our minds turning then to our exhausted bodies for solace?

We get something to do and as soon as we’ve got it, it gets us.

We grew up founding our dreams on the infinite promise of American advertising.

Oh, we are going to be so happy away from all the things that almost got us but couldn’t quite because we were too smart for them!

Death is the only real elegance.

Nothing could have survived our life.

Being in love, she concluded, is simply a presentation of our pasts to another individual, mostly packages so unwieldy that we can no longer manage the loosened strings alone.

Life has puffed and blown itself into a summer day, and clouds and spring billow over the heavens as if calendars were a listing of mathematical errors.

Nothing annoys me more than having the most trivial action analyzed and explained.

Look closer and you’ll see something extraordinary, mystifying, something real and true. We have never been what we seemed.

I take a sun bath and listen to the hours, formulating, and disintegrating under the pines, and smell the resiny hardihood of the high noon hours. The world is lost in a blue haze of distances, and the immediate sleeps in a thin and finite sun.

And only weaklings who lack courage and the power to feel they’re right when the whole world says they’re wrong, ever lose.

A vacuum can only exist, I imagine, by the things which enclose it.

I wish I could write a beautiful book to break those hearts that are soon to cease to exist: a book of faith and small neat worlds and of people who live by the philosophies of popular songs.

I play the radio and moon about…and dream of Utopias where its always July the 24th 1935, in the middle of summer forever.

So like what I want to do is connect all of my albums and make it tell a bigger kind of story. So the first album is very focused on her family life and her love life.

Dignity is a matter which concerns only mankind.

Dignity is a matter which concerns only mankind.

Dignity is a matter which concerns only mankind.

I am in love with every church And mosque And temple And any kind of shrine Because I know it is there That people say the different names Of the One God.

It was the kind of love that, sooner or later, cornered you into a choice: either you tore free or you stayed and withstood its rigor even as it squeezed you into something smaller than yourself.

It is the growing custom to narrow control, concentrate power, disregard and disenfranchise the public; and assuming that certain powers by divine right of money-raising or by sheer assumption, have the power to do as they think best without consulting the wisdom of mankind.

If you love people you criticize them, and if you don’t love them you don’t criticize them, you let them go to hell, don’t you? To help any kind of friendship, your marriage, your children, you criticize because you love.