I'm a modern mountebank - I believe in Physiognomy - after all, we are in control of our face - it's the map of where we've been.

When we perfect 3-D copiers and they reproduce tissue, we'll have a million Marilyns walking around with no souls.

You can be angry and silent, but it's no use - there's no distance in the spirit - besides, my words touch you more softly than my hands.

You think so logically... like a hawk soaring - I feel so chaotically... like a kite without a tail plummeting to earth.

When I think of you it's with tears, because no one else has such delicate hands that can reach into my soul and calm my fears.

I love it when the dark bottle of night spills out, and the Moon writes in chalk about us.

I pray this winter be gentle and kind - a season of rest from the wheel of the mind.