I use the words you taught me. If they don't mean anything any more, teach me others. Or let me be silent.

To think, when one is no longer young, when one is not yet old, that one is no longer young, that one is not yet old, that is perhaps something.

I asked her to look at me and after a few moments - (pause) - after a few moments she did, but the eyes just slits, because of the glare I bent over her to get them in the shadow and they opened. (Pause. Low) Let me in.

To find a form that accommodates the shape of the mess, that is the task of the artist now.

Poets are the sense, philosophers the intelligence of humanity.

Words are all we have.

God is love. Yes or no? No.