I try. I fail. I try again. I fail better.

For the only way one can speak of nothing is to speak of it as though it were something, just as the only way one can speak of God is to speak of him as though he were a man, which to be sure he was, in a sense, for a time, and as the only way one can speak of man, even our anthropologists have realized that, is to speak of him as though he were a termite.

The day you die is just like any other, only shorter.

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.

Poets are the sense, philosophers­­ the intelligence­­ of humanity.

What kind of country is this where a woman can't weep her heart out on the highways and byways without being tormented by retired bill-brokers!

You're on earth. There's no cure for that.