No matter how true I believe what I am writing to be, if the reader cannot also participate in that truth, then I have failed.

Our truest response to the irrationality of the world is to paint or sing or write, for only in such response do we find truth.

If it's bad art, it's bad religion, no matter how pious the subject.

I saw Eternity the other night, Like a great ring of pure and endless light, All calm, as it was bright, And round beneath it, Time, in hours, days, years, Driven by the spheres, Like a vast shadow moved, in which the world And all her train were hurled.

Death is contagious; it is contracted the moment we are conceived.

Love. That was what she had that IT did not have.

Integrity, like humility, is a quality which vanishes the moment we are conscious of it in ourselves. We see it only in others.