He falls in love because he doesnt want to.

The only thing I know about me is that it is you.

lips, red, ruby, like the blood, like the voice.

Music repairs us when it breaks the silence.

Wait for it to rain and then go out into the street.

She is his word his love she brings the blood back to his lips.

Everything is blood and vines. The mark of another day of revolving the body exact And the sky is ours our hope our blue our silence our throat of burning wildflowers.

Hit me with spit on the wounds.

Finding yourself with your loves gives blood to existence, looking at one another seeing the universe.

The edge of the sea masks a clock that marks the waves.

Loving you is kissing the night, exposing the scars, words in flames, for every drop and for every life.

Self under self, a pile of selves I standThreaded on time, and with metaphysic handLift the farm like a lid and seeFarm within farm, and in the centre, me.

Only the frantic of fear can harm you. Your calm and centered self knows exactly what to do.

Do what you do as well as you possibly can. That's Buddhist morality.

I can feel that the world this day is different than all the days of our lives before.

Common sense is better than genius, and hence its bestowment is more universal.

I look back at my career when I was younger and can connect what I was going through at the time with the characters I was playing. I see the similarities in them reflecting on my life.

There is still the illusion that if we could declare corporations are not people or that money is not speech, all would be solved. Regardless of the good in those ideas, it wouldn't.

Soups challenge us, because an enticing flavorful stew can be as different from the thin watery beverage sometimes erroneously called soup as a genuine green turtle is from the mock turtle.

The churches must realize that when they take a position on a political event that they must accept the rules of the game.

If you build it, he will come.