We are fated to love one another; we hardly exist outside our love, we are just animals without it, with a birth and a death and constant fear between. Our love has lifted us up , out of the dreadfulness of merely living.

It is in middles that extremes clash, where ambiguity restlessly rules.

A cynic is a kind of romantic who has aged.

We were all brought up to want things and maybe the world isn't big enough for all that wanting. I don't know. I don't know anything

Customs and convictions change; respectable people are the last to know, or to admit, the change, and the ones most offended by fresh reflections of the facts in the mirror of art.

Days, pale slices between nights, they blend, not exactly alike, transparencies so lightly tinted that only stacked all together do they darken to a fatal shade.

Americans have been conditioned to respect newness, whatever it costs them.