Goodness . . . You got to make it out of badness . . . Because there isn't anything else to make it out of.

The lack of a sense of history is the damnation of the modern world.

Everything seems an echo of something else.

I think the greatest curse of American society has been the idea of an easy millennialism -- that some new drug, or the next election or the latest in social engineering will solve everything.

Maybe a man has to sell his soul to get the power to do good.

The image that fiction presents is purged of the distractions, confusions and accidents of ordinary life.

Historical sense and poetic sense should not, in the end, be contradictory, for if poetry is the little myth we make, history is the big myth we live, and in our living, constantly remake.

The poem . . . is a little myth of man's capacity of making life meaningful. And in the end, the poem is not a thing we see-it is, rather, a light by which we may see-and what we see is life.

It is human defect — to try to know oneself by the self of another.

You have to make the good out of the bad because that is all you have got to make it out of.

If you look at a thing, the very fact of your looking changes it...if you think about yourself, that very fact changes you.

He's evil, and the only thing that stops evil is death.

Happiness is living by inner purpose.

Memories are fallible and a timer can save a lot of hard work from going out of the window

Expose every belief to the light of reason, discourse, facts, scientific observations; question everything, be sceptical because this is the only chance at life you will ever get.

It was - it's always very nice to be somebody rather grand.

That [photographs] disturb readers is exactly as it should be: that's why photojournalism is often more powerful than written journalism.

I never said I was a genius.

Knowledge is when you learn something new every day. Wisdom is when you let something go every day.

My brethren, when God first began to love you, He gave you all that He ever meant to give you in the lump, and eternity of time is that in which He is retailing of it out.

These violent delights have violent ends And in their triump die, like fire and powder Which, as they kiss, consume