The End Is Where We Start From.

The Purpose Of Literature Is To Turn Blood Into Ink.

We Have All Our Private Terrors, Our Particular Shadows, Our Secret Fears. We Are Afraid In A Fear Which We Cannot Face, Which None Understands, And Our Hearts Are Torn From Us, Our Brains Unskinned Like The Layers Of An Onion, Ourselves The Last.

I Was Too Slow A Mover To Be A Boxer. It Was Much Easier To Be A Poet.

Time Past And Time Future Allow But A Little Consciousness. To Be Conscious Is Not To Be In Time.

All Our Knowledge Brings Us Nearer To Our Ignorance.