All creative work, all life in a sense, is a cri de coeur.

I believe that the silence of God, the absolute speechlessness of Him is a long, long, and awful thing that the whole world is lost because of.

The human animal is a beast that dies but the fact that he’s dying don’t give him pity for others.

Sorrow makes for sincerity, I think.

Is a lifetime long enough to hold the regret that I have for that fantastically aborted but crazily sweet love affair?

I met her last summer on a moonlight boat trip.

Man is by instinct a lover, a hunter, a fighter, and none of those instincts are given much play at the warehouse!