Clever, but schoolteacher beat him anyway to show him that definitions belonged to the definers - not the defined.

Isolation, you know, carries the seeds of its own destruction because as times change, other things seep in.

At some point in life the world's beauty becomes enough. You don't need to photograph, paint or even remember it. It is enough.

I know there's some poetry that sort of sounds like daisies, but most of the good poetry is also [political], you can feel the heartbeat; it's about some situation that concerns human beings under duress. It's suggesting a solution, or just acknowledging that [the situation] exists. Art does that.

To get to a place where you could love anything you chose--not to need permission for desire--well now _that_ was freedom.

I sang "O Holy Night" in a school choir. My mother came and listened to me and complimented me. So that was the high point. I cannot sing a note.

But to find out the truth about how dreams die, one should never take the word of the dreamer.