As a young man, Yeats spoke to me in a way I could understand. Shakespeare I couldn't understand, but Yeats I could. It was his subject matter and also I really admired the way he put his personal life on the line.

I wish I could say everything in one word. I hate all the things that can happen between the beginning of a sentence and the end.

The wars they will be fought again The holy dove be caught again bought and sold and bought again; the dove is never free.

Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as secrets to reveal. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh.

Get ready for the future: it is murder.

And what can I tell you, my brother, my killer, what can I possibly say? I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you, I'm glad you stood in my way

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove Dance me to the end of love