Winter's notion of poetry is tragedy. It knows nothing of comedy. Its laughter was frozen on its lips long ago.

Winter is ruthless and sometimes sullen and murderous. The wild winter North has gulped ten thousand summers down nor left a froth of sunshine on its lips.

Winter is not an end. It is in transit. It is headed to bankruptcy. The sheriff will sell its stock for what he can get and an ice man will be the only bidder at the sale.

I would just love to do something where I'd have to train and work really hard and do one of those types of action movies, which a lot of women are doing now

I'm so happy dancing while the grim reaper cuts, cuts, cuts, but he can't get me. I'm as clever as can be, and I'm very quick but don't forget; we've only got so many tricks. no one lives forever.

Every life, every love, every action and feeling and thought has its reason and significance: its beginning, and the part it plays in the end. Sometimes, we do see.

The trouble with doing nothing is that you can never take any time off.

Novelists may be able to seek advice from readers and editors, but in the end, it is up to them to get the book right.

No other great master has been so misunderstood by the vast majority of chess amateurs and even by many masters, as has Emanuel Lasker.

Because when every day is the End of Days, after a while they feel pretty much like every other day, even though you know that's crazy. And nothing is the same.

Love doesn't please itself by seeking revenge. Love sacrifices itself for the good of others.

People bullshit and fakeness are the main reasons why I like to be alone.

Ultimately, it's a pretty confusing moment.