Life is energy, and energy is creativity. And even when individuals pass on, the energy is retained in the work of art, locked in it and awaiting release if only someone will take the time and the care to unlock it.

I believe verbal felicity is the fruit of ardor, of diligence, and of refusing to be false.

The heart that gives, gathers.

Conscious writing can be the death of poetry.

Excess is the common substitute for energy.

You're not free until you've been made captive by supreme belief.

Any writer overwhelmingly honest about pleasing himself is almost sure to please others.