“There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet’s wings.”

The mystical life is the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write. I have always considered myself a voice of what I believe to be a greater renaissance – the revolt of the soul against the intellect.

Neither Christ nor Buddha nor Socrates wrote a book, for to do so is to exchange life for a logical process.

All empty souls tend toward extreme opinions.

Teaching is not filling up a pail, it is lighting a fire.

And wisdom is a butterfly And not a gloomy bird of prey.

Talent perceives differences; genius, unity.

We are closed in, and the key is turned / On our uncertainty.

People who lean on logic and philosophy and rational exposition end by starving the best part of the mind.

Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams, Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.

From our birthday, until we die, Is but the winking of an eye.

And pluck till time and times are done the silver apples of the moon the golden apples of the sun.

I’m looking for the face I had, before the world was made.

Only that which does not teach, which does not cry out, which does not condescend, which does not explain, is irresistible.

Yet they that know all things but know That all this life can give us is, A child’s laughter, a woman’s kiss.

All dreams of the soul End in a beautiful man’s or woman’s body.

Ecstasy is from the contemplation of things vaster than the individual and imperfectly seen perhaps, by all those that still live.

You and your sea glass green kaleidoscope eyes have always been my kryptonite.

Women are brilliant. Every woman knows how to do the weirdest thing right out of the bucket. Every woman knows how to do that Hindu head wrap with the towel out of the shower. Ever try to do that? You look like a drunk Iraqi soldier.

You would have to be naive to think you can appear on television and not have the material edited in some way.

The fans always tell me im beautiful but I always tell them that no one will ever be as beautiful as them

Laughter appears to stand in need of an echo, Listen to it carefully: it is not an articulate, clear, well-defined sound; it is something which would fain be prolonged by reverberating from one to another.

I like being a pin-up girl. There’s nothing wrong with it.

I hate anything that seems like something that has been done.

The judgement that people cast on you for how you do or do not appear is nothing more than just a projection of their own wounds.