Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.
Anxiety is the hand maiden of creativity.
What is true, is true only for one time and only for one place.
It is impossible to design a system so perfect that no one needs to be good.
Where is all the knowledge we lost with information?
The end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started.
Footfalls echo in the memory, down the passage we did not take, towards the door we never opened, into the rose garden.
Talent imitates, genius steals.
All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance.
Distracted from distraction by distraction
The remarkable thing about television is that it permits several million people to laugh at the same joke and still feel lonely.
The definition of hell is a place where nothing connects with nothing.
In order to arrive at what you are not, you must go through the way in which you are not.
To each individual the world will take on a different connotation of meaning-the important lies in the desire to search for an answer.
The old should be explorers, be curious, risk transgression, explore oldness itself.
Men tighten the knot of confusion Into perfect misunderstanding.
No one can become really educated without having pursued some study in which he took no interest- for it is a part of education to learn to interest ourselves in subjects for which we have no aptitude.
Liberty is a different kind of pain from prison.
Between the vision and the act lies the shadow.
You are the music while the music lasts.
Unreal friendship may turn to real But real friendship, once ended, cannot be mended
To become what you are not, behave as you do not.
To believe in the supernatural is not simply to believe that after living a successful, material, and fairly virtuous life here one will continue to exist in the best-possible substitute for this world, or that after living a starved and stunted life here one will be compensated with all the good things one has gone without: it is to believe that the supernatural is the greatest reality here and now.
There's no vocabulary For love within a family, love that's lived in But not looked at, love within the light of which All else is seen, the love within which All other love finds speech. This love is silent.
I must tell you that I should really like to think there's something wrong with me- Because, if there isn't, then there's something wrong with the world itself-and that's much more frightening! That would be terrible. So I'd rather believe there is something wrong with me, that could be put right.
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