Eleven times Jesus died on the cross, Eleven times falls down a body thrown upward, Eleven times also I abandon the logical flow of thought.

I am interested only in "nonsense"; only in that which makes no practical sense. I am interested in life only in its absurd manifestations.

One must write poetry in such as way that if one threw the poem in a window, the pane would break.

But, of course, memory and responsibility are strangers. They're foreign to each other. Memory always goes its own way quite regardless.

Excuse me? Do you mind if I sit next to you? This spot has the best view of..." I glanced out the window. "The... gravel roof.

My uncle always said that it was the sword in a man's hand that determined his worth, not the one between his legs.

Often thoughts are given to me with the sole purpose of giving them away.

The way is in training.

I have an urban background, but I need melody, I need a song, so I try to mix and match and keep it fluid.

I could get an audience into my world and if you can do that, they'll go with you not all the way, but a lot of the way.

What if the question is not why I am so infrequently the person I really want to be, but why do I so infrequently want to be the person I really am?

For Zen, man is the goal; man is the end unto himself. God is not something above humanity, God is something hidden within humanity. Man is carrying God in himself as a potentiality.

Self-will so ardent and active that it will break a world to pieces to make a stool to sit on.