“It is as painful perhaps to be awakened from a vision as to be born.”

Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age.

I desire to press in my arms the loveliness which has not yet come into the world.

All fiction is autobiographical fantasy.

And then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will yes.

People trample over flowers, yet only to embrace a cactus.

You can still die when the sun is shining.

And yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.

Time is, time was, but time shall be no more.

Life is too short to read a bad book.

Children must be educated by love, not punishment.

Masturbation! The amazing availability of it!

To learn one must be humble. But life is the great teacher.

People could put up with being bitten by a wolf but what properly riled them was a bite from a sheep.

Every life is in many days, day after day. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love. But always meeting ourselves.

The light music of whiskey falling into glasses made an agreeable interlude.

Hold to the now, the here, through which all future plunges to the past.

Her veins are filled with the ink that writes onto the paper of her life and canvas.

I imagine poetry to be a living entity in me.

Friendships that die are like a lost art.

I cannot tell if it is a blessing from an old god or lovely dark art only that he holds my heart.

The art of harvesting pain – poetry.

The glass is broken into particles that now accept themselves as art.

Art has a special way of connecting dots from lost to found.

No matter how often we draw the lines, we will cross them – my favorite type of art.