Remember the great adversity of art or anything else is a hurried life.
First you must have the images, then come the words.
Anyone who can feel that way about a woman is worth lovin himself.
We have both lost ourselves and created something else, something that exists only as an interlacing of the two of us.
So here I am walking around with another person inside of me. Though I think I put it better the day we parted when I said there is a third person we have created from the two of us. And I am stalked now by that other entity.
Complex things are easy to do. Simplicity’s the real challenge.
One great love in a single lifetime was enough for anyone.
Such physical matters were nice, yet, to him, intelligence and passion born of living, the ability to move and be moved by subtleties of the mind and spirit, were what really counted.
The road is a strange place. Shuffling along, I looked up and you were there walking across the grass toward my truck on an August day. In retrospect, it seems inevitable – it could not have been any other way – a case of what I call the high probability of the improbable.
I sometimes have the feeling you’ve been here a long time, more than one lifetime, and that you’ve dwelt in private places none of the rest of us has even dreamed about.
The reality is not exactly what the song started out to be, but it’s not a bad song.
The heart never forgets, never gives up, the territory marked off for those who came before.
The curse of modern times is the propensity of male hormones in places where they can do the most damage.
And I remember most of what I know that is good and true and lasting has come not from scholars but from minstrels and gypsies...
We’re all getting lashed to the great wheel of uniformity.
The curse of modern times is the preponderance of male hormones in places where they can do long-term damage. Even if were not talking about wars between nations or assaults on nature, there’s still that aggressiveness that keeps us apart from each other and the problems we need to be working on.
The market kills more artistic passion than anything else.
It’s kind of strange – in fiction you get to tell lies and are applauded for it.
This kind of certainty comes but just once in a lifetime!
I am the highway and a peregrine and all the sails that ever went to sea.