For Poetry is the wisdom of the blood,That scarlet tree within, which has the powerTo make dull words bud forth and burst in flower.

In reality, killing time is only the name for another of the multifarious ways by which Time kills us.

Blood is that fragile scarlet tree we carry within us.

The artist, like the idiot or clown, sits on the edge of the world, and a push may send him over it.

The only difference between an artist and a lunatic is, perhaps, that the artist has the restraint or courtesy to conceal the intensity of his obsession from all except those similarly afflicted.

A golf course outside a big town serves an excellent purpose in that it segregates, as though a concentration camp, all the idle and idiot well-to-do.

Poetry is like fish: if it's fresh, it's good; if it's stale, it's bad; and if you're not certain, try it on the cat.

I have always said that if I were a rich man, I would employ a professional praiser.

Everywhere men have unlocked the prisoners within, and from under the disguising skins the apes have leapt joyfully out.

We attended stables, as we attended church, in our best clothes, thereby no doubt showing the degree of respect due to horses.

Hell has a climate, but no situation. It lies in the spirit, and not in space.

The world is held together by lies. When I paint, I'm searching for the truth between them, but I'm no better at this than anyone else. Worse, probably.

The fact that I can plant a seed and it becomes a flower, share a bit of knowledge and it becomes another's, smile at someone and receive a smile in return, are to me continual spiritual exercises.

I have a theory you shouldn't write a book unless you have something to say.

Home is important. Its important to have a home.

If Trump doesn't respect all Americans, how can we trust him to serve all Americans?

I got you to look after me, and you got me to look after you, and that's why.

Bad divorce?" Hardy asked, his gaze falling to my hands. I realized I was clutching my purse in a death grip. “No, the divorce was great,” I said. “It was the marriage that sucked.

Living was no longer the grief behind him, but the anxiety ahead.

There are people who think that honesty is always the best policy. This is a superstition. There are times when the appearance of it is worth six of it.

If thou wouldst rule well, thou must rule for God, and to do that, thou must be ruled by him. Those who will not be governed by God will be ruled by tyrants.