My dear, beautiful and imaginative things can be destroyed. Beauty and imagination cannot.

There's a notion I'd like to see buried: the ordinary person. Ridiculous. There is no ordinary person.

Anarchy wears two faces, both Creator and Destroyer. Thus Destroyers topple empires; make a canvas of clean rubble where creators can then build a better world. Rubble, once achieved makes further ruins' means irrelevant. Away with our explosives, then! Away with our Destroyers! They have no place within our better world. But let us raise a toast to all our bombers, all our bastards, most unlovely and most unforgivable, let's drink their health, then meet with them no more.

I don't think you can separate a place from its history. I think a place is much more than the bricks and mortar that go into its construction. I think it's more than the accidental topography of the ground it stands on.

None of you understand. I'm not locked up in here with YOU. You're locked up in here with ME.

You wear a mask for so long, you forget who you were beneath it.

Romantic poetry had its heyday when people like Lord Byron were kicking it large. But you try and make a living as a poet today, and you'll find it's very different!