Cold metal walks across my forehead, spiders search for my heart. It is a light that goes out in my mouth.

I drank the silence of God from a spring in the woods.

Shuddering under the autumn stars, each year, the head sinks lower and lower.

Silently, God opens his golden eyes over the place of skulls.

Black frost. The ground is hard, the air tastes bitter. Your stars cluster in evil signs.

The near stillness recalls what is forgotten, extinct angels.

When we are thirsty, we drink the white waters of the pool, the sweetness of our mournful childhood.

Earlier lives drift by on silver soles, and the shadows of the damned descend into these sighing waters.

The blue of my eyes is extinguished in this night, the red gold of my heart.

The guilt of newborns is immense.

A world without fairy tales and myths would be as drab as life without music

Death, in its certainty, is exacting its due respect and repose before it takes my hand.

She lost herself in the kiss, moving her body against his, her excitement rising, the tension inside her spinning tighter and tighter.

I knew I really didn’t look that good, and that Edward Weston had glorified me, but it was a very pleasant thing to be glorified and I couldn’t wait to go back for more.

When in doubt, throw doubt out and have a little faith.

The one who does not stray away from her/his nature will live long.

When I get compared to artists like Jose Gonzalez or Bon Iver, I can't help but think, "I've been doing this since they were in third grade."

The effects of infantile instruction are, like those of syphilis, never completely cured.

Nothing matches the holiness and fascination of accurate and intricate detail.

In the early Seventies, I had shoulder-length hair, bell-bottom pants, love beads and shirts that laced up at the front. But then I smartened up.

To admit ignorance is the highest knowledge. It is the necessary condition for all learning.