We only know how to lose and be lost.

Don't live up to your stereotypes.

I don't think the revisionist historians are accurate. I think their agendas are clouded by selfishness and anger and rage.

Imagination is the politics of dreams; imagination turns every word into a bottle rocket. . . . Imagine every day is Independence Day and save us from traveling the river changed; save us from hitchhiking the long road home. Imagine an escape. Imagine that your own shadow on the wall is a perfect door. Imagine a song stronger than penicillin. Imagine a spring with water that mends broken bones. Imagine a drum which wraps itself around your heart. Imagine a story that puts wood in the fireplace.

Estranged from the tribe that gives no protection, What happens to the soul that hates its reflection?

One play can change your momentum forever.

The poetry, if you will, of life is reduced to this sort of dry, scientific, you know, it's the worst sort of précis of who we are.