I am haunted by interrupted acts, introspective as a leper, enchanted by a repulsive clew, a gross and fugitive movement of the limbs. Is this the love that shook the lights to flame?

What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open.

The universe is made of stories, not of atoms.

However confused the scene of our life appears, however torn we may be who now do face that scene, it can be faced, and we can go on to be whole.

As we live our truths, we will communicate across all barriers, speaking for the sources of peace. Peace that is not lack of war, but fierce and positive.

Breathe-in experience, breathe-out poetry.

The journey is my home.

If we look long enough and hard enough ... we will begin to see the connections that bind us together, and when we recognize those connections, we will begin to change the world.

The sources of poetry are in the spirit seeking completeness.

If there were no poetry on any day in the world, poetry would be invented that day. For there would be an intolerable hunger.

Reality is the completion of experience.

He will essentially follow the language of the spectacle, for it is the only one he is familiar with.

I wonder what will happen if i put a hand cream on my feet, will they get confused and start clapping?

I listened as the words became sentences and the sentences became pages and the pages became feelings and voices and places and people.

You said that once before. Actually - a slow smile curved his mouth - that's one of the reasons I came today. I'm ready to give you a lesson in loving me.

wen thectaste of my own medicine is given to me results into silent treatment, its not bitter therefore i enjoy the medicine i gave you too.

To acquire money requires valor, to keep money requires prudence, and to spend money well is an art.

Everythin' seems ter happen ter you, doesn' it?

Increasingly, campaigns have become narcotics that blur our awareness of problems long enough to elect the lawmakers who must deal with them.

I'm a Bookchinite, and nobody has a right to claim that but me.

I was a finalist for the Pulitzer as a reporter.