They luxuriated in the feeling of deep and all pervading satisfaction, a feeling of knowing absolutely that all was well with the world and them and that the world was not only their oyster it was also their linguine with clam sauce. Not only were all things possible, but all things were theirs.

As Lao Tzu says, "The Tao that can be named is not the true Tao".

If love is what I've experienced, I can't separate it from other people. I can't separate creation, and I can't separate whatever this creative thing is, from it's creation. I don't believe that can be done. We're all part of this creative force.

Being an artist doesn’t take much, just everything you got. Which means, of course, that as the process is giving you life, it is also bringing you closer to death. But it’s no big deal. They are one in the same and cannot be avoided or denied. So when I totally embrace this process, this life/death, and abandon myself to it, I transcend all this meaningless gibberish and hang out with the gods. It seems to me that that is worth the price of admission.

It seems to me that what the artist sees is the simple and obvious that is invisible to everybody else.

For weeks Tyrone thought he was going to die any minute, and there were also times when he was afraid he wasnt going to die.

No matter how beautiful the outside may be, the inside still has feelings and needs that just words don't fulfill.