some men never die and some men never live but we're all alive tonight.

Art is its own excuse, and it's either Art or it's something else. It's either a poem or a piece of cheese.

People were usually much better in their letters than in reality. They were much like poets in this way.

Pain is strange. A cat killing a bird, a car accident, a fire.... Pain arrives, BANG, and there it is, it sits on you. It's real. And to anybody watching, you look foolish. Like you've suddenly become an idiot. There's no cure for it unless you know somebody who understands how you feel, and knows how to help.

mercy, I think, doesn't the human race know anything about mercy?

News travels fast in places where nothing much ever happens.

‎"she’ mad but she’ magic. there’ no lie in her fire.