Magic becomes art when it has nothing to hide.

We have not yet arrived, but every point at which we stop requires a re-definition of our destination.

I went to London because, for me, it was the home of literature. I went there because of Dickens and Shakespeare.

I lived rough, by my wits, was homeless, lived on the streets, lived on friends' floors, was happy, was miserable.

Beware of the stories you read or tell; subtly, at night, beneath the waters of consciousness, they are altering your world.

It may be that what you could be haunts you. It is real. It is a weight you have to carry around. Each failure to become, to be, is a weight. Each state you could inhabit is a burden as heavy as any physical weight, but more so, because it weighs on your soul. It is the ghost of your possibilities hanging around your neck, an invisible albatros, potentials unknowingly murdered.

I learned that life will go through changes - up and down and up again. It's what life does.