The more you talk about something, the less accurate it gets.

Those who claim to write about something larger and more significant than the self sometimes fail to comprehend the dimensions of self.

Chair or no chair: a binary relation. But the vicissitudes of moving the body around are infinite. You never know what a person in a chair can do.

Around you move many seas. It is impossible not to drown a little.

If you think something's happened quickly, you're looking at only a part of it.

Perhaps all anxiety might derive from a fixation on moments - an inability to accept life as ongoing.

Time punishes us by taking everything, but it also saves us - by taking everything

You can't learn from remembering. You can't learn from guessing. You can learn only from moving forward at the rate you are moved, as brightness into brightness.

The catalog of emotion that disappears when someone dies, and the degree to which we rely on a few people to record something of what life was to them, is almost too much to bear.

I don't write toward a genre, and I try not to make claim to a genre after a book is published. That said, The Guardians isn't poetry. It's prose.

This is suffering's lesson: pay attention. The important part might come in a form you do not recognize.

The first kiss and the first glass of wine are the best.

Experience is the only subject worthwhile of study.

Waste no time to compare yourself with others. Find your soul.

Forgive me for being chipper, but despair is desperately dull.

I'm afraid my jealousy is a beast I find difficult to tame, " he said with a sigh.

It is really an alienation to believe that learning is the result of teaching.

Jim Jarmusch: Poets are always ahead of things in a certain way, their sense of language and their vision.

I get in fewer arguments when I'm alone.

Found a good voice and took advantage of it. Each of my specialties was like a prospector discovering a vein of gold. I worked each until the vein was exhausted.

Captain of our fairy band, Helena is here at hand, And the youth, mistook by me, Pleading for a lover's fee. Shall we their fond pageant see? Lord, what fools these mortals be!