Every autobiography is concerned with two characters, a Don Quixote, the Ego, and a Sancho Panza, the Self.

I'll love you till the ocean Is folded and hung up to dry And the seven stars go squawking Like geese about the sky.

The camera may do justice to laughter, but must degrade sorrow.

The stars are dead. The animals will not look: We are left alone with our day, and the time is short, and History to the defeated May say Alas but cannot help nor pardon.

Most people call something profound, not because it is near some important truth but because it is distant from ordinary life. Thus, darkness is profound to the eye, silence to the ear; what-is-not is the profundity of what-is.

A professor is someone who talks in someone else's sleep.

Money cannot buy the fuel of love but is excellent kindling.