Did you ever see the way the clouds love a mountain? They circle all around it; sometimes you can't even see the mountain for the clouds. But you know what? ... The clouds never cover the head. His head pokes through, because the clouds let him; they don't wrap him up. They let him keep his head high, free.

For a long time I was convinced that the conflict between Jewish people and black people in this country was a media event.

All paradises, all utopias are designed by who is not there, by the people who are not allowed in.

I'm losing the definition now of politics. I sort of don't know what that is anymore. People say politically correct, I don't know what that means. I know what they think they mean.

Art invites us to know beauty and to solicit it, summon it, from even the most tragic of circumstances.

I didn't fall in love, I rose in it.

Deep, deep trouble. Can't rival the dead for love. Lose every time.