I have the normal complement of anxieties, neuroses, psychoses and whatever else - but I'm absolutely nothing special.

Three is the number of those who do holy work; Two is the number of those who do lover's work; One is the number of those who do perfect evil Or perfect good.

Everybody is a book of blood; wherever we're opened, we're red.

A man kills the thing he loves, and he must die a little himself.

Perhaps a wiser eye than hers would be able to read tomorrow in tonight's stars, but where was the fun in that? It was better not to know. Better to be alive in the Here and the Now--in this bright, laughing moment--and let the Hours to come take care of themselves.

We each die countless little deaths on our way to the last. We die out of shame as humiliation. We perish from despair. And, of course, we die for love.

What I tried to do is deliver movies that have worked for me more than once.