When I am grown up I shall carry a notebook—a fat book with many pages, methodically lettered. I shall enter my phrases.

For this moment, this one moment, we are together. I press you to me. Come, pain, feed on me. Bury your fangs in my flesh. Tear me asunder. I sob, I sob.

I was always going to the bookcase for another sip of the divine specific.

And the poem, I think, is only your voice speaking.

When I cannot see words curling like rings of smoke round me I am in darkness—I am nothing.

Like" and "like" and "like"--but what is the thing that lies beneath the semblance of the thing?

The real novelist, the perfectly simple human being, could go on, indefinitely imaging.

But I pine in Solitude. Solitude is my undoing.

I begin to long for some little language such as lovers use, broken words, inarticulate words, like the shuffling of feet on pavement.

Death is woven in with the violets, ” said Louis. “Death and again death.”)

Among the tortures and devastations of life is this then—our friends are not able to finish their stories.

You look somewhere else, then you see something different and so your journey for wisdom starts! Wise man’s mind is the mind looking at everywhere!

When we were that young we invented the world, no one could tell us a thing.

As long as you know most men are like children, you know everything.

All beauty has a dark side. Heaven can't exist without hell.

Help humanity to help yourself. Love humanity to love yourself.

The seeker for perfection must discover in his own life the reflection of the inner light.

When first you enter Wisdom's sea, beware-A wave of indecision floods you there.

There are also the people too bizarre to ignore, like Kyle Simpson. Future male stripper.

The mind's ability to rationalize it's own shortcomings is unlimited; I am no exception.

Every problem interacts with other problems and is therefore part of a set of interrelated problems, a system of problems. I choose to call such a system a mess.