Vengeance is sweet. Vengeance taken when the vengee isn't sure who the venger is, is sweeter still.

(The raindrops) played across the coast all through the night, until the soft new day shrugged itself awake, tried on amethyst and lavender for a while, and finally decided on pale yellow.

Sometimes--and I know it doesn't last for anything more than a second--sometimes there can be perfect understanding between two people who can't stand each other. He smiled, and I smiled, and we put the Timex watches on, and we watched the seconds flit by.

You know, there are good reasons to learn how to read. Poetry isn't one of them. I mean, so what if two roads go two ways in a wood? So what? Who cares if it made all that big a difference? What difference? And why should I have to guess what the difference is? Isn't that what he's supposed to say? Why can't poets just say what they want to say and then shut up?

It means, Doug Swieteck, that in this class, you are not your brother.

Books can ignite fires in your mind, because they carry ideas for kindling, and art for matches.

There's no pleasure in getting to be an old coot unless you have some fun along the way.