He who seeks truth should be of no country.
Then I did the simplest thing in the world. I leaned down. . . and kissed him. And the world cracked open.
The practice mirror is to be used for the correction of faults, not for a love affair, and the figure you watch should not become your dearest friend.
Ours is an upbeat, a hurried, hasty beat. It keeps pressing us to go farther, to include everything so that we can savor everything, so that we can know everything, so that we will miss nothing. Partly it's greed, but mainly its curiosity. We just want to experience it. And we do.
Theater people are always pining and agonizing because they're afraid that they'll be forgotten. And in America they're quite right. They will be.
There is something fearfully strengthening about cutting free even if the ties bandage the heart itself.
No white man uses his feet the way an Indian does. He talks to the earth.
We're trapped on this very thin slice of perception. . . But even at that slice of reality that we call home, we're not seeing most of what's going on.
I confess, I'm not the biggest fan of Twilight.
It was only my second night in Africa, yet something had begun to grow inside me which I could not stop, as if my childhood dreams had finally found the place where they could materialize. I had arrived where I was always meant to be. I did not know how it could be practically achieved, but I was certain beyond any shadow of a doubt that it was here that I wanted to live.
It wasn't an architect or a designer who invented objects, but an artisan.