“Blessed are you who circled desire with a blade, and the garden with fiery swords, and heaven and earth with a word.”

Poetry is a verdict, not an occupation.

We are so lightly here. It is in love that we are made. In love we disappear.

You wanted to be the Superman who was never Clark Kent.

Ordinary eternal machinery, like the grinding of the stars.

A young nurse is standing close behind me wondering whether she is being drawn by my power or her charity.

After a while, if you are sufficiently bored or unemployed, you may want to read it from cover to cover.

A kite is a victim you are sure of. You love it because it pulls.

You live your life as if it’s real, a thousand kisses deep.

To kiss her there was to intrude into something private and skeletal, like a turtle’s shoulder.

How can I begin anything new with all of yesterday in me?

Your faith was strong, but you needed proof.

Deprivation is the mother of poetry.

Going nowhere isn’t about turning your back on the world; it’s about stepping away now and then so that you can see the world more clearly and love it more deeply.

There is a war between the ones who say there is a war and the ones who say there isn’t.

Anything I tell you is an alibi for something else.

She was made of flesh and eyelashes.

I don’t think you can be too ashamed of anything as long as you were being yourself. I think why people feel, um, so entitled over me is that they’ve watched me grow up. But that’s a blessing and a curse.

The true basis of morality is utility; that is, the adaptation of our actions to the promotion of the general welfare and happiness; the endeavour so to rule our lives that we may serve and bless mankind.

The hardest arithmetic to master is that which enables us to count our blessings.

He was the blessing that came into her life. She was the gift that he found. The universe brought them into each others lives. Destiny would find a way to bring them together. And they would find their way to each other.

I hide my grief, just like the blessed birds hide themselves when they are preparing to die, my love.

I hide my grief, just like the blessed birds hide themselves when they are preparing to die, my love.

I hide my grief, just like the blessed birds hide themselves when they are preparing to die, my love.

Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.