It seems to me everything Shakespeare did was political.

Listening to the doves in Alfred, Georgia, and having neither the right nor the permission to enjoy it because in that place mist, doves, sunlight, copper dirt, moon-everything belonged to the men who had the guns. . . . So you protected yourself and loved small. . . . A woman, a child, a brother-a big love like that would split you wide open in Alfred, Georgia. . . . To get to a place where you could love anything you chose-not to need permission for desire-well now, that was freedom

At some point in life, the world's beauty becomes enough.

It's a bad word, 'belong.' Especially when you put it with somebody you love ... You can't own a human being.

For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.

Me and you, we got more yesterday than anybody. We need some kind of tomorrow.

Literature, it seems to me, is wisdom.