Clearly I miss Him, having been brought up in religion. But now a man must be responsible to himself.

The echoes of beauty you've seen transpire, Resound through dying coals of a campfire.

My life used to be full of everything. Now if you aren't with me I haven't a thing in the world.

I am thee and thou art me and all of one is the other.

You're an expatriate. You've lost touch with the soil. You get precious. Fake European standards have ruined you. You drink yourself to death. You become obsessed by sex. You spend all your time talking, not working. You are an expatriate, see? You hang around cafTs.

Life breaks us all but in the end we are stronger in the broken places.

It is impossible to believe the emotional and spiritual intensity and pure, classic beauty that can be produced by a man, an animal, and a piece of scarlet serge draped over a stick.