It's a rare thing not to have been bonny-- once.

I have my faults, but changing my tune is not one of them.

Don't look for meaning in the words. Listen to the silences.

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

Imagination at wit's end spreads its sad wings.

To-morrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of to-day?

That double-headed monster of damnation and salvation--Time.