Islands are metaphors of the heart, no matter what poet says otherwise.

Are we all living like this? Two lives, the ideal outer life and the inner imaginative life where we keep our secrets?

Language always betrays us, tells the truth when we want to lie, and dissolves into formlessness when we would most like to be precise.

Walls protect and walls limit. It is in the nature of walls that they should fall. That walls should fall is the consequence of blowing your own trumpet.

Wallowing is sex for depressives.

Quest is at the heart of what I do-the holy grail, and the terror that you'll never find it, seemed a perfect metaphor for life.