There was the gaudy patch of sunflowers beside the west gate of the palace of the Prince of Ombria, that did nothing all day long but turn their golden-haired, thousand-eyed faces to follow the sun.

All I wanted, even when I hated you most, was some poor, barren, parched excuse to love you. But you only gave me riddles.

There are no simple words. I don't know why I thought I could hide anything behind language.

Do you become in visible?' 'No. I'm there, if you know how to look. I stand between the place you look at and the place you see. Behind what you expect to see. If you expect to see me, you do. I listen in places where no one expects me to be.

Content, it dreams awake, and spins the fabric of tales. There is really nothing to be done with such imagery except to use it: in writing, in art.

Men see what they are most afraid of.

...that once were urgent and necessary for an orderly world and now were buried away, gathering dust and of no use to anyone.