“Gothic script seemed to warp every letter that passed through the door of the funeral parlour, as if death were a German village.”

“We do not pass through the same door twice
Or return to the door through which we did not pass”

“The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!”

“Sound, jocund strains; on pipe and viol sound,
Young voices sing;
Wreathe every door with snow-white voices round,
For lo! 't is Spring!
Winter has passed with its sad funeral train,
And Love revives again.”

“Even when I was a struggling actor, I was writing scripts, which were terrible, but I was fueled by a belief that I had to create the door. The right door wasn’t always going to open for me. Sometimes I was going to have to just crash through it or build one where there was no door before.”

“Every village has its simpleton, and if one does not exist they invent one to pass the time.”

“opened the door a crack wide enough for the entire world to pass through.”

“Through soundless labyrinths of dream you pass,
Through many doors to the one door of all.
Soon as it's opened we shall hear a music:
Or see a skeleton fall...”

“And funerals are pretty compared to deaths.”

“I lay in the parlour between two beds to keep me from being frozen to death, for as we keep open house the winds enter from every quarter, and are apt to sweep into bed to me.”